Bird's Eye: Poetry Collection

The Origin

While in the depth of thinking,

Someone may somehow stumble upon something

That perhaps, has never crossed even the mightiest wit.

It will command you to dig, and you must.

Dig! Dig deep and have your hands some dirt,

Because as you do,

You are touching the vast, terrible history

That tore flesh and shed blood as tears.

Don't be afraid and dig deeper, nevertheless.

Let the drops of your sweat nourish the grass all around you.

Dig past through the most wonderful tales ever told,

And past through everything that reigned the planet once before now.

Plunge your psyche into the hole,

And the truth will hit you hard

As if you plummeted from the peak of the world.

Only 'til then will you know

That you have reached the farthest point

That a diligent digging hand can dig—the Origin.

Impossible, as it always seemed,

Everything little or huge, was once but a single, tiny dot.

The dot that since symbolized the end,

Is in fact the very beginning.

All the ceaseless prospects that exceed a million limits,

All the things that come and go together with the hues of the sky,

Everything that sings along with the whistling breeze that makes the trees dance,

Sprung to being through the most impossible truth.

It testifies to the brotherhood of entirety.

The goat gracefully grazing on the green grassland

Is the brother of the boastful blue whale beneath the brutal waves of the ocean.

So why bother of speaking out a thousand of reasons to give affection

When a dot could mean it more?