Reflect

Tread softly, weaver of fate, 

for your future is as free as falling rain. 
Your potential- infinite;
 to nourish,
 or to drown
Each drop seems nothing 
in the vast ocean of life.
Each step, each smile, each voice,
Each drop 
is a ripple amongst ripple;
 A tremor, reshaping the earth.
 
Be silent, like the eyes which watch  above, 
clouded from us by their beards of white mist.
 They drift and they cry,
 laughing and screamed at our fates
Be silent as them, drifting, dreaming without abate.
They are as intangible, untouchable as gods,
They watch us, they bathe us, 
they drown us and fry us.
They are the mist, they are the fates.
They are the ghosts of oceans,
 and from them, oceans gush forth
They are the past, the ghosts of the future.
 
The oceans are but pale reflections of the gods, 
Often murky, smelly, green and putrid.
With each violent storm
the vision is renewed, 
above, as is below
 
Tread softly upon the waves, ever shifting, foaming, quaking. 
Life is as unpredictable as a single drop of rain. 
It's path, determined by its birth, the winds predict its course
It's destiny is death, yes death. All destiny is death.
 
But deaths can form a history, a memory, a world.
An ocean of deaths, of nights and days, of ends, and new beginnings.
Every setting sun is the dawn of a new night, every night grows old, and they too pass on. The Sun that dies calls up the dead, all things are made anew. The fates above predict our course, tread soft upon the dew
 

Comments

jvenegas

I lost myself in here. This is due for a rewriting

 

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