Scott Hastie

Soothing the exhaustionIn my soul,So I can fall back skyward,Safe in your arms,And survive to dream again.

Let us have no guiltLeft to wasteFor dreaming still.

The gilded spiralOf longings within.Our very own cathedralThat points persistently to heaven.

I am sad, like the hot dust on the streetsAnd the music of fresh fallen leavesCaught in a sliding summer breeze.

On the canvas of life,Every sweep of the brush matters,Counts for something_

Paradise is no whim.It takes time and trust,You see.

The searing light of morningAsks unwelcome questions,Fragile hopes soon blistered by daylight.

The light needs only our trustAnd, of course, the darknessTo work its eternal alchemy.

Where once there was a void,Now at least there are Seeds of splendour,Becalmed belief for another time.

Be as audaciousAs you wish.By all means look to the heavens.

When in love or inspired,An eternal kiss from the divineAwaits us all.

Ultimately not one amongst usWill ever be denied that,The glimmer of a chance to shine.

A permanent pathThat, once illuminated,Goes ever onward _ a way home_

Nothing that truly mattersCan ever evaporate,Be excised,Burnt out of your soul.

Once spun,The silken thread of all our aspirationsRemains intact,It can never be broken.

In this life at least,Our fate is rarely epic.Maybe just as well,Impervious heroes we are not_

How stubborn life is,It clings like silver in our souls.

The sea, the sea_Man alone,Passive, unawareIn his elemental sadness.