From the warm breath of bright light,
blue sky breaks through our dormancy.
Cool breeze still keeps on bare air,
whilst curved lines rise bound in time
to care for the meaning of life.

We're expected to expand or contract,
responding to vast constructs set upon us.
It's easy to forget measures of the present tense.
Stillness often corrects parallels to connect, as impulses bubble up to ****** inside the mind.

Characters unseen play amongst the set,
there are integrated games we gain but our existence is said to be simplistic.
Focus on your sense of self and betterment, less complicated within the riddles of preconditioning.
Here to give, win and begin again.

Aged, wrinkled and worn
Our Palms of fortune and destiny
Show tracks leading to new places
Playing out the timeline of our lives
Like a show - a Chorus Line
The queues will flock for the matinee
And so this poetical line ends.

i know that we were young and naïve
and our promises were vague
but i assure you, when i said

"i will love you until the end of time"
i spoke with my whole heart
dangling on a line

There’s always a line
between things
that defines one apart
from the other.
I believe it also applies
between you and I,
between mother and son,
between earth and sky
which is called horizon,
or that long line between what is
and what is not.
Maybe it’s God’s way of telling us,
“This is where you’re supposed to be
and this is where I’m supposed to be.”
And those lines also have lines
in between
and in between
and in between.
Bridges,
arms,
fingers.
They all begin on one point
and end on another.
Two small points
that somehow stretch the distance
and split one apart.
That is why, when we are holding hands
we tend to look at the sky,
down the river,
or at invisible horizons—
never to meet the dots
of each other’s eyes.