Together we follow,
whoever walks in front.
Minding our own footsteps,
But never looking up.
Shuffling without purpose,
around an endless circular track.
They never rest or stop,
just to wonder Why?
But that doesn't change a thing,
Because we follow just the same.

Hands have a power,
unlike any other.
They can lend a hand,
Or hold people down.
Spend years to build cities,
Or press the button,
that destroys them.
They can touch and feel,
yet they can also strangle.
Our eyes give us two dimensions,
Hands give us the third.
But the real problem is,
That hands never hold enough hands.
Only because,
we are too busy,
holding them in fists.

Maybe I was never broken,
Just not the way you wanted,
Maybe it hurts you,
to know that I am more
than just an extension of you.
You expected me to be a mirror,
But just because you can’t see yourself in me,
Doesn't mean I’m broken glass.

Why can't we see
what was always there?
Did we not look hard enough,
or just not try hard enough?
When the lights are off,
Hands become your eyes
Only then,
Can we truly see
The hidden depth
of true beauty.

I looked in the mirror today
but the person looking back,
wasn't me.

Late night thoughts
Words glorified by the night,
Each letter's meaning becomes fully realized.
Text stretched into the third dimension
Written into the imagination
And Laced with promise.
Yet day breaks,
The sun reaches from the horizon
to pull the veil of night.
Its bright glare shatters the illusion,
exposing the hollow promise
inside each letter's shallow meaning.