I look to find a way to fit
through the eye of a needle.
Coming out the other side frayed
by the absence of what I was,
I shatter into tiny pieces.
Broken thoughts of who
scattered into the universe like star dust.
Some of us begin speaking and questioning.
Who are we?
What are we here for?
Some of us create things, others destroy things.
She wants to be his play thing.
He wants to play with her.
He extends himself stiffly
to her tender yearnings,
they become music.
New thoughts are born
to ride the thoughts of yesterday again.
Old thoughts begin to fade
into thoughts of tomorrow.
Expanding; contracting and repeating.
Broken thoughts of who
scattered into the universe like star dust.
Some of us begin speaking and questioning.
Who are we?
What are we here for?
Some of us create things, others destroy things.
One becomes many
and many become one
as one remembers she is
all and none.
I reverse myself through the eye of the needle.
I return to the absence of questions and I.
Having no need to reference to a self,
I rest in a peace greater than any joy or pain.
Yet, more subtle than these words,
I vanish now between them.
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