Wisps
The sentience of awareness
…
Ideas are like wisps
Ghosts Of a grove
Where they reside
No one truly knows
…
They don’t hide
And come out to play often
To weigh & decide
Roughage to soften
…
The Elves of Discernment
Chase them for assessment
Never catch them; their journey too quick
Leaving Them Bereft and
…
Wish their music
Would stay a hair longer—
They know no obligation —
And linger those Songs
Where thought is liberation
…
Thanks for listening.
I appreciate all comprehensions of each piece. If you attained a bit of light in the upstairs attic, please, share your thoughts in the comments as it pertains to you.
Like, follow, subscribe, and all that stuff that makes the good merry-go-round machine work.
Any penny to the coffee cup below helps me further unclog mental befuddlement for us all, & work on my narratives more.
Until next time.
Perhaps that is why some thoughts don't remain in our hands they don't belong to be held only to be felt like the wind passing through the trees they touch us for a moment then they migrate to the night of another soul and we think we have lost them but ideas don't die they only change form on the wing of a bird in the eyes of a stranger in a melody that comes suddenly at midnight they are reborn those elves of wisdom you speak of perhaps they are the old lights within a person whose name he has forgotten but whose voice he recognizes and where thought is free no one can chain anyone's mind there ideas roam barefoot silent wild and endless
Beautiful!