9
(2 votes)
| Rating | Rated by |  | | 9 | jonpenny | | | | 9 | ruthpenn | |
You must login to vote
|
|
|
Sometimes one doesn't feel inspired
The world feels huge, craggy, indomitable
The universe, unthinkable
You rub in small circles with knuckles on smooth flush cheeks, thinking
Wish it were warmer outside
Watching those go by, do they have souls?
Do they see with the eyes of stars and suns?
Do they know that they're all going to die?
No time to do anything, anything but wait.
Figuring with dirt and wood chips
Draw my thoughts in shifting sand, soon gone
Draw a wide circle, encompassing it all
Maybe...
Maybe it's a circle
Maybe we are the key to ourselves
Maybe all our thoughts, preferences, ideas, the people we meet and love
Were in us all along
No need to search so fiercely
Maybe...
Maybe we're not dead yet
Maybe the circle promises that we'll be here again one day
Maybe someone else was here before
Maybe the words sound familiar because they've already been spoken
A rhythm
Rhythms are comforting
And as you sit under the oak tree
Figuring and drawing in the earth
You rub small circles with knuckles on smooth flush cheeks, thinking
Thinking those cheeks are warm with blood
You're still alive
And you feel the sun beam down warm and understand
Understand why you feel the grass grow under your feet
|
