Anger is born of unmet expectations.
The more entitled we feel
being attached to an expected outcome
the more intense the anger may be.

I love the feel of
a cool breeze just before
an April storm.

The wind wisping
through my messy hair,
whispering the watery secrets of
wanton wanderers and wordsmiths,

As I stare at the small wooden windmill
The spinning become hypnotic
till the rain awakens me from
my fascinated stupor.

Axiom does not lie upon the
plush bed of the words I've said.
It doesn't flourish under influence of the
flowery texts I've written.
Axiom does not fully exist behind the
actions I've deliberately displayed.

It is ingrained within the subtle folds,
inexplicable nuances
and playful innuendos.
It is present in the lull you find in between
fleeting memories and faltering heartbeats.
It is scored into the unlyricised songs,
sung when our breaths do meet.
It's in the unplanned gazes that
stray into nothingness
only to be caught by yours.
It's evident in the void... The silence we've shared
without ever feeling awkward.

Axiom...
Is the fall that you had anticipated
only after having taken the leap.
It's that feeling of not knowing where the bottom is
but yet still certain that you are safe.

Axiom is...
My unseen heart as it beats hard
for none other than you.