My soul, you see, is a pretty poem on paper scrunched and charred. In time, with care, she will unfold again and the words will be as beautiful as they ever were.
The confessing codes need a master to handle them. They cannot be interpreted by one who is an amateur of the craft. Everybody confesses everything, their deepest crimes and fears in everyday language. For a code-breaker it is simple to follow the trail and expose them all. Gemma was one of the linguists who could break them. Some saw what she did as magic, yet in truth she was partnered to the positive universe, a tool of the divine force and saw nothing special in herself. She was as natural as the trees and the fish in the oceans. Yet in the "junk" speech, the ad libs and the stories people tell, in their creative flourishes, there are clues. Much is actually junk, fears of nothing and misplaced guilt, yet a master such as her could tell what was real because the universe placed flags only she could detect, shone lights that only she could see. It was as if her soul shone a black light and the criminals were marked in some invisible ink. She was the ultimate detective, the one sent to uncover the hidden world of vice, sent to restore true virtue.
If one could see the light of the soul, the cityscape would be as the starlit black heavens, be it day or night.
It was the brightness of a fresh page in the summer sun, the kind that brought a smile even as you let your eyes rest a moment. It was the sort of brightness that that kindled something beautiful within, and at the same time stirred a connection with the nature around. It was one of those days the soul was so vibrant it began to merge with every living thing, radiating, resonating, elevating...
A beautiful woman feels beautiful within, from the love she gives to her ideas and the creative ways she expresses her soul. She is one who wraps her arms around the soul of the world, of all who love her and those who need to love. That's beauty and if you can see that too, you'll be smarter and wiser than most.
Let the years come for they bring the wisdom of the mother, the strength of the grandmother. With each year let my love flow to the young, my learning be their guide when they seek it. Let me be the good arms they fall into, the shoulder they seek solace in and the heart that is always open and warm. For that is the ageing woman, that is the beauty that stays in the soul and shines from the eyes.
This is just wrinkles over a soul, a part of me that has never aged a day, immortal as it is. It's the eyes that still dance even though the legs may only wish. It is the dreams that still play though it is only my thoughts that still can. Music moves me as much as it ever did and I love as fiercely as anyone of younger years. So look past this skin that tells of no more than mileage on this vintage car.
When the soul is alive the madness of the selfish man becomes so crystal clear, of they who are as desperate men filling a bottomless sack, always with the panic in their hearts, ever seeking more. When the soul sings there is no sack, nor reaching hands, because the eyes see so much more. When the soul reaches out it is to nature and beauty, to the hearts and souls of others and it feels safe and comforted. And so the best thing we can do for this world is to keep our souls alive, to sing the sanity of love until we are one chorus.
The actor kept his soul in a bottle, I swear he did. He kept it there so no matter how many millions saw right into it, right through those beautiful eyes, it was still his. I think that's the way it has to be when you are so famous and so loved, you keep it safely in glass for self protection, how else could you share it with so many?
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