What Isn'T There

Here we sit rotating in our little gravity wells
Hoping, always hoping
Striving to escape and touch something real
That doesn't exist
We strain to hear the music that isn't playing
That beautiful orchestra
We realize that nothing abstract is true
Except love, sometimes
We reach, cry, and complain that it is too far
Without starting the journey
Happily we sit and stare at bundled seconds
So we don't need to try anymore.
Not everything is sad or happy or happy/sad
There are the few moments of brilliance
When we realize the important things have always been there
There is that moment of comprehension
Where everything makes sense again

by Poet Dragon

Comments (1)

It reads like the gentle sussurations of the surf at night. A nice work of wonder.