Thought Tendrils
As I lay here,
with thoughts like tendrils
caressing and restricting
my current state of being,
I am brought out through my vision
the connection like a movie reel
passing by with flickers
of all shades of green.
With grass blades waving
to the russling leaves above,
who pronounce their proudness
after drinking the best of
what is left
of the fading sunlight.
—
Calm or stubborn are they,
plantings of today?
—
What it must be like
to be the wind,
which touches everything
and never sees?
—
The universal dove,
until it chooses to fight
for balance
amongst the living
that dare to think too much…
Tonight I must be nimble
without wares
Or else I’ll stand in fright
Knowing that my shivering
might be arrested
by tomorrow’s sensations
that I might not be able to have
Unless we allow ourselves
to be open
to something different altogether.
Clever, right?
Everything I just said doesn’t really mean anything.
But has anything else ever meant anything, anyway?
Maybe describing the water in your glass for 15 paragraphs turns out to be more useful than anything else you did in your life once your life movie is played for you.
Your guess is as good as mine.
I luv ducks.