They come and go. It does not take long before others feel what they bear, the message of love and joy they inherently spread. Yet, they go too soon. Dirge does not mellow the exit they probably know may be sooner than others think. They hurry to make their mission last longer, forever, in the hearts of all, to show that there is no mystery involved.
That to love and share is divine, and that the reverse to ignore ravages the soul, instructs humility in spirit akin to the message in which all it counsels after all, relish the being, should know. They open the mind to the potential diametric we fail to cherish even given what before our very eyes informs the relic we nonetheless seemingly embrace, the collapse of an element of being central to its integrity we seem to know but fail to act to stop.
How we can fail it seems when we ought to thrive on souls aforesaid whose toil we so covet yet seem indifferent to honour the heritage of the virtue of love that they so charitably deliver the woes they endure regardless, some ask. Yet, they try, in the short span they have, to give us love, to inform our angst of its hubris, that they hope would inspire us to love the message they deliver in a flash.
At times, they seem to tire, as the rest too do, their spirits labouring it seems in vain, perhaps unblemished by the weakness in others they seem to so much want to fortify, even as they wonder not to relent but to carry on. So they do, to fill others with joy, reminiscent to the ashes of pain they want to intern, which its seeming ethereal perpetuity blurs hope, a vivid afar though they say, as always to inspire our despondence we fail to pin, its source yet seen.
They voyage even as they frail with love in their hearts to spread the joy we lack. It is a mission that whoever cares to admit must somehow imbibe the goal it seeks, as indeed, we know what nurtures the relish we crave for the being to last, the relic pristine. It is intrinsic that connection lives, no matter how we elude its essence how we seem to think. It is simply inherent, hence its permanence, we assume is given, sadly we know.
Even as we corrupt in wit, we ache in vain, as we seem powerless to actualize what we know is the way that of love and of charity. They strive to want us remember, as they know we know it is the way although we assume what we do, however, also sure it too is now frail. The pressure on their souls they ignore, of what often seems a hole too deep to fill with love, too dark to see how much more to give, when in fact, there does not have to be a hole.
On they preach, as some are wont to think, yet they in fact say they live, just as they should with so much love to give, so much joy in their hearts, they yearn so much others have and give, just as they do. It is a way of life we need for the diametric we know to embrace whose end we require for the link to live, we somewhat still forlornly shrug, for reasons that suggest we fail again, to empower ourselves to embrace what we know we should.
They are the first to admit the angst sits at the core of our being that pulls the ends sideways if not in fact sometimes the other way, one they say we need eschew that of the tendency to negate our potential to sustain the link, to keep the being alive, as we should.
It does not matter what they say they do they insist and preach they would for the message to sink into the hearts of all for us to live to link ahead relic we stand behind, for the torch to shine eternal, for all yet to come to see the way to ensure they keep the link alive, as they should, as we need hope to do, but must first embrace the message they work so hard to leave in our hearts as they move on to beyond too soon albeit we say.
Our hearts bleed with tears within we cry for them to stay. We lurch to hold on to their angelic chiffon as they fly away. They say they would rather not leave us alone but have to go, that their work is done on the terrestrial plane and we must continue to spread the message of love, of hope, and of charity to all to keep the link alive, to keep in touch with them, which they hope we do.
But we cry. We know we lose again, sure of the frailness we hide about the uncertainty we know but fail to act for the end we seek to be sure is coming our way. We hurt because we fail to ensure the message stays in our hearts that they work so hard to be sure we do, wary we may fail again now that they are gone to even try, on our own to live as we should the message says that they try so hard to make us see.
Yet, they say we would be fine even when they leave as we remember them and crave the link to stay, as indeed, we know we should, but only assume we have to stay, even when we hold the end of the diametric apposite to the relic we innately desire with which to link in eternal bliss we fail to do.
On and on he goes, as he hurts and he cries. Then he stops, knowing what he should his tears would not replace the loss of an angel with the message of love, hope, and charity, to spread whose message only the link craves for what he lost to stay for ever in his heart.
