Like a cradle in which we
Are born, ever so fickle and
Nature never easy to pinpoint. Thoughts of a
Gargantuan proportion categorized
Under a spectrum of grammar
And syntax. Can you ever really
Get the emotion in devotion, or is
Every sentence just another incomplete expression of 'heart'?

It beats. It lives.
Simply as Y-O-U or I. Our unscrupulous baby.

Lazily, even the speaker of this (un)natural
Isolation of symbols and syllables can but
Frivolously transcribe with childish fervor
Every glimpse of wonder that appears before his mind.