I gave you the world...

but

you still burned it to

n o t h i n g.

How many of the stories that we tell ourselves are actually true? How many stories do we create and believe and preach, steering ourselves tragically into self-made pitfalls and locking ourselves in prisons we truly believe we can’t escape from?

There’s more than one side to every story.

.

there’s a chance

my wings are spread wider than I thought

I never really noticed when my feathers

became a part of you

this mind of mine is careful about this

but if I cut myself by chance

my blood would taste only of you

____

* listen

The circle of life will never implode; it recycles truth and sometimes magnifies it with illusion. We are carpenters by trade, building on the universe. The mind’s eye is the creator of what we see. Though we don’t always hear each other’s internal rivers, our worldwide tears make the oceans.