On days we feel like scorched earth,
Like corroded rust or trampled dirt,
All we have to do is turn our faces,
Toward the gentle breeze,
And be sprinkled into the four directions,
Be swept away by the wind’s tender breath.
We are made holy
Through this burning,
Like a phoenix rising from it ashes
To become more powerful
Than it ever thought possible.
The scorching does not destroy us,
Rather, it burns through the chaff
Until our greatness is revealed
And what’s of real value remains.
This is our defining hour,
The moment we are made whole
By what has made through the burning.
So, let us be marked,
Not by sorrow or pain,
Not for false humility,
Or, for thinking we are less than we are.
Let us claim our brilliance within the debris,
Let us dance on the ashes of our previous lesser selves,
Let the stars be engraved into our bones,
And our divine fearless nebula return home.
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust,
From the rust,
OUR MASTERPIECE SHALL RISE.
Something has to perish for something greater and better to grow.
Note: This poem is inspired by the beautiful works of Jan Richardson.