We are but love made manifest
though we don’t realise,
remembering our inner truth,
which we were born to find.
The time upon this spinning earth,
is magically defined,
and written in the stars above;
our future to decide.
The life as written with soul’s pen,
is spread on ancient clouds,
and haunts the corridors of mind;
beckons us back home.
It’s like a play which we did write,
forgetting as we birthed,
and in the staging, finding words
to realise our truth.
To write, direct and play our role,
is what we came to do,
and while the stage is firmly set;
the rest is ours to show.