The flowers grow in all kinds of shapes
The light in the flowers
Is your light
The light in all things
Is your light
Every little speck of dust
Is a door
The door is always open
Come, go through it
Come and meet us where you are.
There is light in the white areas
There is light in the ochre
There is light in the black and grey
I am in the black of all shapes
You are in the white of all
And we do not know
We tell each other ochre stories
We laugh and we cry
We say: I am ochre, who are you?
Are you ochre too?
Don’t tell anybody that I said this
These are actually
Only words.
intuitiveflow 
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