How strange it is to think,
when the air you breathe
finds its way into my lungs
and when the deep cries of the world
are suddenly shallow, and light
as an offset breath of earthen ties
keeps me alive,
crisp wind,
with an infinite past
and biting emotion
looks on to it's own melody
wrapped in skin and bones
and swaying with the trees.
Some ask for honesty,
and only gain grief
but truth sits idly in the hands of reminiscence
and I've seen the way it treats history.
Relentless, unforgiving, but regard to control
comes swiftly with a skipped thought.
Conscious breathing.
Collected thinking.
Calm existence,
unbound sympathy.
And with a piece of life to transcend stress and pain,
in an unending spiral through every body
I hope to give you a sense of eternity.
Happy birthday.