We are ripples moving through
this atmosphere of a thing called life,
threads tightly woven
found often frayed at the edges,
we sew our reality
in and out and tied off
as experience flows like silk
we become the colors of our creation.
Pieces and bits left behind,
we bring together to make anew
a fresh perspective filled with light
and waving in a quiet breeze,
we inhale the scent of being.
The softness of silk slips quietly down
making no noise as it falls away,
beautiful in its heaping self,
like rivers curving round
endless like our thoughts that are lifted,
hung like stars on high,
we dream into the sacred spaces that wait
for wishes to be given and granted,
we feel the effortless effect
of painted skies hung
and a watercolor scheme
of gathering clouds to move away,
dare not let the sun to set
hidden behind
the shadows of a long tired day.