As pure as water can be, in an affluent and wealthy country,
My soul has a Cornelian dilemma when it comes to purity.

How can we be good people when we live so easily?
Innocents are dying of thirst and I take a bath every other day.

Does it really count if one buys organic and fair-trade items,
When it is that easy, that accessible, and they are still hungry over there?

But what else are we allowed to do, that is not too compelling?
What can our money do, when all it does now constrain others?

I try every day to be as good, as pure, as I am able to
Though I still feel futile, small... and unrealistically optimistic.

Serenity coils like a Babylonian serpent
around simplicity and sincerity.
The soul burns eternal, perennial fathoms
of expansion and purity in wisdom and the search
for the crown of grace in this reality.
A crown not made of gold.

Purified by the water
Holy oil in the water
New life
New way
New thoughts
Pure soul
Beautiful life

through the vortex
of clouds
god, princely.

a thousand angels
spread their wings
floating whiter than the moon.

trumpets thunder

we are reborn, forgiven
our hearts gladdened in joy.

only you and your love, my lord,
only you and your love
a second in time

and prayer
awakening the ether
trembling, thankful.

Flames touching the sky
Ashes forming endless smoky deserts
Haters are meant to hate and cry
Beware of this fire
Or else you'll burn your feathers

Sealed lips yet so much to say
Hearts filled with feelings and fear
Everyone here wishes to have a fay
Beware of these liars
As their hearts for you are not Crystal clear

When she was young, she'd go for long walks. On the side of the cracked road where grass grows, she walked and smiled because of the way the sun was a blanket on her arms and how the trees danced with the wind. She would never tell anyone where she would go, she just went. And she would stare up into the sun and would cry because it shone so bright. She loved the clouds and the way they changed because of the same wind that made the trees dance.
She use to believe in magic, she believed she was capable of flying. Bella would run up to the tallest points of the hills and spread her arms like wings and lift her chin to meet the sky and she'd spin. She'd spin as fast as she could with her mouth open in a smile and eyes staring up at the sun until she fell into the soft meadow of grass. She would lay there under her favorite tree. She would pretend her favorite tree was the Giving Tree from Shel Silverstein's book, but she never asked anything of the tree. She would just sit and talk with the tree and hug it, she would tell the tree how much she loved it. She would tell the tree all her secrets and of the cute boy in her class and the tree listened because no one else would.

Purity runs through me.
Modesty covers me.
Morals stay in me.
The world is full of evil and that scares me.
Where are all the good people like me?

I am behind
the age of my skin
the texture of my lips
the length of my hair
and the colour of my eyes

for I am in
the age of my journey
the texture of my heart
the length of my knowledge
and the colour of my soul