These words don't belong to you
or me
They come from down deep
From the low guttural rumblings
Of our sleeping planet
They come on the wind
as it flies into your ears and eyes
forcing you to take that deep breath: inspire
They come, gently, from the trees
whispering the song of the season
as you stroll beneath their branches
They come from the heart
as it pumps blood through us tenuously, with a rhythmic beat
They come from the stardust
of a thousand dreamy worlds
drifting slowly through the universe
and out the tips of our pens
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
These words don't belong to you
or me
They come from down deep
From the low guttural rumblings
Of our sleeping planet
They come on the wind
as it flies into your ears and eyes
forcing you to take that deep breath: inspire
They come, gently, from the trees
whispering the song of the season
as you stroll beneath their branches
They come from the heart
as it pumps blood through us tenuously, with a rhythmic beat
They come from the stardust
of a thousand dreamy worlds
drifting slowly through the universe
and out the tips of our pens
