Intricate matrixes of words
Strung delicately one after another,
Flowing from unseen fountain,
Flowing beneath a cryptic mountain
Melding Into one another, so far as I can see it
Nothing absolute can be created from the puddle
That’s collected all my muddled thoughts,
Stagnate, is indignant to the fact that life survives in motion,
Lost to the notion that change is not bearable
But instead it is, it is inevitable.
Tell that to the cryptic mountain resisting the change
Holding on so desperately to every spec of dirt,
Until in turn gravity tears it from its grip.
Yes the mountain is grounded
But is it equipped? Water is quick.
But it just moves dirt and mountains that spent
An eternity building up , and what kind of
Grounding is earth hurdling back toward earth?
Astounding yes, resounding in your heart and head
Your aspirations bounding? Remaining unchanged,
Except a small tilt in your perception so insignificant
You don’t know that gravity just stole a spec of your dirt.
You have on a micro level come unearth
But regardless of your element you will be
Subjected to the erosion until you are a flat plain,
Or a calm stream or eventually a stagnate puddle.
But you would never know
That you are the highest humbled,
The grandest grounded, and if you can puddle
Without being stagnate you are the ocean
Until you were there you wouldn’t know it would you?
Well unless you read I said it, then maybe then,
But again I doubt it.