fall and thoughts sail down
like leaves off a tree of self
doubt and certainty
asking, wondering
so many etcetera, too many to count
silently loud
in the quietness of hidden hearts;
questions that linger
ever since ‘I’ became ‘Me’
and ‘You’Â was separate
apart, a part of everyone
else
someone, somebody
a body beyond the self
‘I’, ‘Me’
sad hours seem long
that room where they come and go
why Michelangelo?
*
consciousness, they say
is when a mirror loses its wonder
and becomes reflection.
this is what we have
a sense of confinement that is open
static yet moving
a constant attempt to decipher
the senses trick or treating
us to another’s perception;
always desirous to
touch beyond skin
and hear the voice
that reaches our inner ear
as deep as heartbeats go
beyond skin and bone
to that marrow that others call soul.
© 2015 threegoodwords
 
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