Two thieves they stood there,

To steal the glowing light,

They had planned it all out,

But didn't think it was so bright.

 

They looked at it in awe,

Spellbound and in disbelief,

The light was so powerful,

They could not get relief.

 

As one moved to touch it,

The other jumped at him,

Before the first could reach,

The second touched the rim.

 

The light did not seem hot,

But the touch brought pain,

And he crashed into the other,

So he too could not gain.

 

The weight of the first,

He pushed and moved ahead,

He too now touched the light,

And he too felt pain instead.

 

Then they both sat down,

And thought long and deep,

What could they do now,

For this light to keep?

 

They had no cups or vials,

Nor pots and pans alike,

Neither did they have bottles,

Not even their shoes to hike.

 

Before the other could think,

The first went close again,

He cupped the glow in hands,

And felt the pain again.

 

He took his hands to mouth,

In pain he opened it up,

With tears in his eyes,

He drank from his hands’ cup.

 

The light went down his throat,

And settled in his gut,

His eyes began to glow,

The other now felt the glut.

 

They quickly consumed it all,

And then they could not move,

Later they slowly stood up,

And started to move to a groove.

 

Slowly their bodies now floated,

And their eyes began to shine,

They moved toward the heavens,

As vessels of the light divine!

Look up to the sky and wonder,

If you really are alone,

The heavens that you are under,

Where stars are plucked and sown.

 

There isn't a single night,

Where a star doesn't fall,

As you behold the sight,

The sky will slightly crawl.

 

You can call and tell above,

No one will answer back,

The crowded bodies will shove,

And move along a track.

 

You may think about it,

As you look up and stare,

At the stars so brightly lit,

If there is life out there.

How about a little magical ink,
That flows from the ordinary nib,
From ordinary thoughts, red, white, and pink,

Through words, though ordinary, and glib.

​

How about those pictures you paint now,

With your dreams, in fluid streams,
Build a palace, a ship, and sail how,
And fill those papers, in reams.

​

How about your stories and mysteries,

That you lament over, in strain,
That fill those hours, sweet and sour,

And flow away, with the rain.

​

How about you start, and give them form,

Just take your vision and write,
For our minds neither contort nor conform,

But set forth to make things right.

​

Just think and dream, but boldly,
Be honest to thought, and yourself,

Let it flow, that ink, warm and coldly,

Through nothing but you and yourself.

​

Just take the brush, and paint and slush,

Don't wait for the birds to come,

Immerse yourself in fire and mush,
Give it shape, a bit, and then some.

​

Just read and sing and laugh and cry,

With the stories abound and around,

Meet and greet with those kind and shy,

And listen to their wondrous sound.

​

Just start down your path and walk away,

Find all your twists and turns,
Let the flow take over, let it sway,
You’ll find yourself through the churns.