“Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky/ We fell them down and turn them into paper, /That we may record our emptiness.” . Kahlil Gibran --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- i n d i f f e r e n c e inspiration? a strange concept i don’t know if i have it or not but still the words bleed out of me, my consciousness on another plane (paper,ink) what’s the point? “the sun is shining” but no, the stars are out what does it matter, they are all just flaming balls of hydrogen. the air smells like smoke and sunny skies, because we are broken and the trees are burning but the sun still shines— take it as mercy or as cruelty, the summer does not care the sun will still shine. it knows it is beautiful. you can dance in the rain or drown in it, the water is unceasing and it does not care. it knows it is beautiful. you, sun-kissed, rain-blessed, you are beautiful too even if you curse the rain, the sun, the glass half full/half empty. so: i bleed poetry beautiful blood though it may be the skies do not care.
