I've always loved to create. I've always believed that it is the product of " loving too many things ", wanting everything all at once– as for there was nothing better than looking into the night sky as a child– a breathing mosaic of fluorescent giants that could tell their own stories in silence, that are particular even in the continuously expanding pits of the universe, entwined with themselves in their burning, beguiling epitome of stillness and chance, so complex but so simple, knowing that somehow– you're apart of this universe too. You're one of them. I'd hold my hands out as if to cup the stars in my own palms, as if they were marbles. Attainable. And if I couldn't grab them, well, you know I would sure at least try. That is what the stars told me, it is all attainable. Just try.
And so, try, I will.
Try, I do.
YOU ARE READING
the petals on a rose
Poetryand then there will still be vultures after that'll continue to take what they can get from the residue of your pure soul [a collection of poetry & prose]
