Only fools think of how the air was born.
I scatter the sand to the lips of the ocean.
The seashells and the corals could use the extra
seeing as how I use mine on duplicate facsimiles,
sitting on cloud clichés
and imagined déjà vu’s.
But suppose the air had its own breath,
its own topsy-turvy luggage of memories-
a box guarded by wounds healed by toothpaste,
traversing Frost’s two roads with a sigh of strength giving up,
and open doors.
What if it's not so foolish after all?
My poems have been getting a more flexible format these days, I don't even know why. But I like it :3
Mkay, I know how descriptions could ruin a poem's feel, atmosphere and what not, but I feel like I should write this. So the concept of this is that for every breath you take, that air was someone else's once before. What thoughts does it carry? What memories does it hold? And what moments are you giving it that will unknowingly be part of another person's?
myea, 'twas a random thought that sprung to mind. Anyway, hope you like it.
A beautiful read.
Very nice. I especially love the opening line.
i really really love the concept of this piece and you put it together beautifully!
That concept is great. Didn't catch a meaning first read-through, then it made sense reading the description.
This is beautiful.
Ooooh, I really like this concept.
i like, good work