A gentle wind of a reoccurring nightmare...
it grows stronger...
gains speed....
stuck in the middle....
a spirit of melted gold....
a gold so pure and flourishing...
radiant colors and shades of the sun encompasses this shapeless form...
this wonder of a spirit searches for a mold to pour herself into...
but all potters cannot create anything secure enough to protect her...
so her spirit stays exposed..
soon the outside air impresses,
tarnishes....
her glory becomes hidden...
hidden inside the outside layer of impressionable sheets of light now dimmed...
these sheets where once her image...
the heart of her dreams once shined brilliantly...
now they are clouded by the dirt and the mud of the earth...
she wants so much to wash herself clean...
clean of the shadows that inflicted this beauty of formless gold...
but when she tries and fails she hears her dim dream calling...
the dream speaks of glory in the midst of mourning...
glory in the midst of scars..
her eyes glow as she embraces the rain of the endless sky...
and watches as it washes away the meaning of all the hurt and lies...
that's all these scars where to her..
but now they serve to make her a mold of a dream come true..
a mold that is engraved with the word: overcomer
