It boiled out of me
like a sharp harpoon,
pinning me to a wall
of certain destiny.
Swimming in the fate
I thought I had
tipping into a jar of vanity.
The transitioned lenses
seeing past and future
concurrently,
Shake their heads in protest
with confidence to be feared.
What makes one doubt,
to question the path of inconsequential,
Who gathers the berries
and decides which are sweet
and which are bitter?
Only to taste is to know,
to experience and to feel,
to revel and relate,
to touch and know.
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 11:37 PM UTC
It boiled out of me
like a sharp harpoon,
pinning me to a wall
of certain destiny.
Swimming in the fate
I thought I had
tipping into a jar of vanity.
The transitioned lenses
seeing past and future
concurrently,
Shake their heads in protest
with confidence to be feared.
What makes one doubt,
to question the path of inconsequential,
Who gathers the berries
and decides which are sweet
and which are bitter?
Only to taste is to know,
to experience and to feel,
to revel and relate,
to touch and know.
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