Just letters that make up a sound projected through the sound of our voice
our mouth our lips.
No different you than mine
Your body, mine.
Eyes that are thankful to see the experience
that makes up the sky.
the incredible silence and emptiness that fills up that space
a space that one cannot stay with for longer than a second
How to stay in a constant space, staying constant
Soulful and truth, let one appear to others as it forms thyself
the soul evaporates into the body when the body is weak.
Red, pink, green, ultramarine blue
dusted onto the sky with a brush
one cannot see the strokes or remnants of artifice or touch
it just is.
In a moments time it will pass, the colors will fad, the colors will change
the view will no longer be the same.
Change is part of the birth of the sky.
The Earth turns, the moon rotates, it replenishes the dust.
Time and time again
calculated so infinitely yet it’s all
so specific, so perfectly planned.
So symmetrical, so organized.
Apocalypse the bright sky never returns
and darkness is where we all die.