The Soul, so ‘oft times in pain,
Has few choices, to be with God again.
Once before birth, and after one dies,
And during life, which is filled with cries.
Cries of love, and being as one,
During the passion of love, only then can
Two become one.
A blessed bird of flight, the pure white Dove,
Is a messenger to God, the God of Love.
Once, every long, now and again,
A Dove will find another, another soul to win.
But, the time is not easy, this winning of Souls.
For, in life and death, it is difficult to know.
To know the Soul, that will set both free.
Free to soar, on high, for God to see.
How to know, when the two Souls are right?
Right for each other, right for flight?
With eyes so deep, panes so clean.
Can the dove be near, can she be seen?
Love is seen, through this pane of eyes.
Past loves, decaying hopes will also arise.
Yet, I hear a bird, fluttering it’s wings.
As if to say hope is still here.
Love will still ring.
Hold my love, hold for thee,
The future will wait, for it we can’t see.
My soul has felt peace once, and once alone.
Was it fate, or was the Dove wrong?
I heard the flutter, as I heard nothing else.
Nothing existed in the moment I felt.
Through Birth and Death, can a soul proceed,
To be close to God, but others we need.
Two Doves can soar, through a blue white sky.
As they reach for the heavens, before they die.
At the peak of their climb, if right they become one.
To plunge to Earth, their flying is done.
Only in passion and love, will our Souls succeed.
That magic moment of moments,
When two birds proceed.
When the flying is done,
And Two Souls Become One.