They are fragile:
Delicate as a freshly spun web,
But with the might to carry legions.
They linger in morning light
A cooling mist
The first drops of rain
When drought has struck.
They have beaten against your brow
For too long:
These treasures hidden
From prying eyes
From ceaseless sorrow
From those who could not understand.
Now they rise up,
They clamour to be free:
These portals you once knew
As the gates of reverence.
Release the whorls of Mystery.
They live
Where you breathe.
