and we are silver candles,
smiles on roses,
newborn babes,
otter consciousness,
and night shades.

We are ghostly shades
and the shapes of black
bonfires that melt through consciousness.
Perceptions are candles
and we are babes
who imagine the thorns of roses.

The petals of roses
make pink and blue shades
and scents over babes
who fear no black
in the hugeness of consciousness.

We are the autumn of consciousness
giving birth to spring roses
by the silverware next to the candles.
Not all of the shades
nor all of the purple and black
convinces us we are other than babes.

You know we are babes.
Each thing is our consciousness.
The cave is black
but it is filled with roses
—and though we draw the shades
we light the candles.

The bright glow is from the candles
in the hands of babes
who outline the shades
of perception in consciousness.
See there are roses!
They stand in the black.

Those are candles of consciousness
that show we are babes and floating roses.
We are shades of flesh turning on black.


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