Every melancholy moment passes downward through the hands of time.

Every blissful reverie floats like fleece atop the breeze, ever freely upward rising, naturally with ease.

The heavy mind or heavy heart
feels the gravity of thought,
the weight that pulls apart the knit
from the weaver's tapestry,
slowly bit by bit.

Such be the resistance,
Like sandpaper friction,
diligently burns away
with Hunger*
Eating holes in our Souls.