Wisp

Standard

Sometimes I walk among the living dead
And I die a thousand lives
And when I come back to life
I talk to them and I laugh with them
And I love them and I fall in love with them
And when I turn back to see
I see all these faces
Of people that I do not know
And I don’t know their stories
Yet they have told me everything
And I heard
But I do not know them
They are strangers
And then there is myself
The strangest of them all
For they have seen me
And never loved me
And never fallen in love
And I am a wisp they all love
I am a stranger whom I do not know about

Discovering

Standard

Lets run in circles. And run on pathways. And after trains. And circles. Discovering isn’t very hard.

Lets just roll over the grass. On hills. And sand. And smile.

Lets dive in the water. Open our eyes. Close them again. Smile.

Lets discover.

It is easy they say.

The question is–what happens after this. After the discoveries. After the running. After the rolling. After the dive.

Should you never open your eyes?

It is easy they say.

There is grey. A book. Of unanswered, undefined patterns. And coffee. And in unending paragraphs–there was nothing to dwell–and everything.

There is a camera. And a canvas. And a sheet of paper.

And patterns.

It is very easy they say.

Discovering.

We don’t know what we are discovering. And we never find out.

We keep running in circles. And follow the same cycle. And then we close our eyes, as we dive into the water.

Discovering.

City lights keep burning out. And so we learn that there is life. But that is not a new discovery.

City lights fade.

Now that is worth discovering.

It is very easy they say.