Updated: Feb 26
isn’t it curious
how desperately we try to leave ourselves behind
our lives are nothing but filling up vessels
hoping that something (someone) can contain us completely
and us, the source,
flowing until our very last breath
what vessel do you choose today?
is your paintbrush spreading oils, acrylics, watercolors
is it depicting what you see?
or is it your testament
i was here
when you take your lover’s hand
how tightly do you choose to hold it?
the way i laughed
the way i smiled
the way i hoped
when we part, will you still remember this laugh?
this smile, this hope
will you laugh, smile, hope, cry, scream, run, dance, sing
with traces of my life blending into yours?
are we separate
or just an accumulation of the other
can we ever be separate?
when you lay your head to sleep
what dreams haunt you now
do monsters lurk over you, envelop you
in their shadowy, treacherous embraces
or do they prefer to lie under your bed
as if reenacting a fond episode
from a childhood long forgotten,
but maybe tonight is a good night
and your dreams are free
where flowers never wilt
and nights never end
when you go to transcribe these dreams
how many details can you scribble down
before they’re gone forever?
i am always reminded of
handprints desperately, eagerly
plastered against rough walls
red, black, white
voidless silhouettes and infinite outlines
proof we existed
proof that when we become nothing
proof that when we join the earth and the sky
proof that when we remember nothing
we walked this world,
the same as you