They come with hands, not hearts.
Smiles wide, but always parts.
Not for me – but for what I give.
And I, the fool, still let them live
In places sacred, soft and wide 
Where none have stayed, but all have tried.

They speak of light, yet fear the flame,
They take the gold, forget the name.
They love the shape, not what it holds,
And so my warmth turns slowly cold.

But I, I feel it all, then still.
I carry storms, but walk the hill.
No scream, no burn, no pointed end.
Just silence now. And truth. And bend.

If only once, they tried to see
The ache I wore so patiently 
They’d know I’d never ask for more
Than presence at my inner door.

Yet I remain. I always will.
For I am the fire. I am the still.
Not seeking worship. Not the prize.
Just someone real behind the eyes.

But even if they never come,
I won’t grow dark. I won’t grow numb.
I’ll feel it all, then let it be,
And bless it back, then set it free.

No hate will bloom. No stone, no cage.
For I dissolve the weight, the rage.
And though the world may drink my sea 
I’ll stay in love.
I’ll stay in me.