Stirred on...
The emotional impediment,
is crumbling to sediment.
The love is overflowing,
it will never stop growing.
Hopefully...
Now...
The words, les mots
are filling the once empty pages.
Does emptiness then hold everything?
Does imagination stem from inactivity?
Who can know?
I only know what I have seen,
felt,
and experienced.
Maybe...
Life is nothing,
and in that sense,
in another tense,
life becomes everything.
Your whole world hovering
in the control of your soul's fingers,
that hold steadfast to all you have ever known,
and that no longer hold when all you know is lost.
Never...
Is the birthing ground,
where the drums of life pound.
In the womb of a mother,
or the tomb of another.
If one looks closely,
never contains "ever"
and so does everything.
So, next time you are sulking,
look at someone and hear the beating.
Sometimes, it can be so strong
that you will be pulverized,
and you'll have known you were wrong.
