Friday, February 1, 2013


“I think and think and think, I‘ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.” - Jonathan Safran Foer


Starting small, a little fire, a gentle beginning
Fuel consumed by circumstance
Flames are bright, I think to much.

Pull the sand, a gentle river, contained by nurture
Releasing it runs, events of chance
Rapids form rolling hills, I think to much

Words spoken, few arrows, swiftly flying away
Wounds bleed from peaceful intentions
Broken shafts are faults, I think to much

Drops floating, small crowds, in heated drafts gather
Billowed followings, a dark horizon
Deluge free falling fast, I think to much

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