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they each carry a paper crane in their sleeves.

they harbor a caged bird for me---

a message.

each one of them are different

with a different face---

a different outreaching hand.

only at the end of the road

do they reach below their sleeve

and let the crane see day.

only when they know i have understood

the message that lay beneath

the folds of its feathers,

will they then set it

free.

:::

is love not the sixth sense?

for without it,

how would we discern between

what it is

to what it is not?

:::

there are two options:

you relinquish fear,

so life may show your self-truth---

with the expectation of living it.

you admire fear,

so death may show your self-truth---

with the expiration of living it.