Movement Song On Silent Lips

From bulb to bud,
the cross-section of seed,
all hands freed from restraint
and the blindness torn away.

From the hand that moves
to the hand that guides,
all manner of things entwine
in the procession of movements
between mortality and the Divine.

From spark to flame,
all that’s extinguished,
no cliche can tell the story
as rightly as it’s lived.

Speak of no sparks,
speak of no fire.
Speak of no passion.
Speak not at all.

Let the lips be silent
and let the movements speak.

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