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a mote of dust suspended in sunbeam.

the page shivers under my pen

like soil when the dam breaks

it knows it must change

like tinder to my flame

 

inhaling, i consume it

and make it a starry night

but keeping my ears, to hear the light

swell and ebb out

 

beside all hope and along all doubt

my brush paints the darkness, colourful

and knows it is not ugly, knows it is not cruel

but oriented

 

towards the last ocean

where the world

is but a molecule among it's

infinite

directions.

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c
Written by
craig-reynolds
American
Published
Aug 28, 2010
Lines·Words
17·85
Notes

Copyright 2010

Permission

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