Where goldfish's  in
                   a bowl of air

Forgetting to breath...

Neglecting the beauty we see
           memories are fickle things

We swim in circles, expecting to
             noticed, but all we need to do
is realize the bowl isn't real....

I was a flower with no petals
           but still you saw deeper.

Knowing one day I would blossom.

You were every drop that watered me,
      every ray of luminosity
                            that gazed upon me.

You saw the potential of a flower
                           with no petals..
And knew that given time everything
                                                  blossoms...

Even though I walk in life,
                 in death I wonder
                                 aimlessly.

Realizing I travel more now
                  than with any breath..

For within seconds I have
                 travelled my entire life
                                 without a footstep..

And now my footprint is no more,
           but others walk over what
                              I had done before.

My reflection is here
               but my thoughts
           are dissipating..

Like an hourglass broken
                my conceptions
                       are dust...

And yet I still try to
                         remember
             every grain that fell...

Look at your hands,
          now touch your face..

Is this us, our impressions
       collected by our grasp..

Now walk bare foot in the
           garden, street..

Are these our footsteps naked under us?
                            Or repetitions of before,
that feeling that were breadcrumbs on a path.

Were not sure of ourselves
                                             we use our senses
     collectively to exist in our surroundings..

But if we had none would we be alive at all??

Are we
       grains
of sand floating

Or are we
       stones
sinking into life...

People never realize
that we were all
                mountains
once...  

But time has a way of
eroding us...
      we all become grains
on a shoreline of our existence...

She was a landmark of
            many journeys

The only quandary
            at this moment
is others had travelled
her more than self..

She was a
               penny machine
letting others deposit in her.

But she had left this emotion
                     long ago...

She collected her pennies,
         throwing them angrily
into a wishing well of despair..