The sky's little grin

The petal to a rose; a thorn as sharp as a dagger, a bone to a dog; the marrow is savory to the tongue, the moon to the sun; a grin only visible to those who are not the sun. Sometimes you long for something, you don't know what or why or how to achieve this longing, but you know it's intense almost a desire. Is it love? Is it a home? Is it merely something to fill the emptiness now captivating the space within your ribs? Whatever it may be, it's a goal in everyones life, to satisfy this unknowing need.

This, as expected, is the search for whatever is nagging in the back of my mind, along with every other precarious thought. My rendition of life and how I choose to handle things, effectively or not, who's to judge?