Steam on a fire.

I am the steam on a fire in the rain.
Keeping the balance of yin and yang.
Moving in and out, transient existence of length.
Transeunt thoughts undulate through the labyrinth of my mind.
My thoughts counter thought at least a thousand times.
Rash is not a congenial nature of mine.
Consciousness afloat in the cosmos of time, yet held grapnel by the terms of the physics we mime.


-unfinished-

If I told you.

What if my eyes lit up and projected the contents of my mind for you to see?
You became entranced, your gaze cemented to the projection of my conception of the existence we breath.

Sounds slowly building around you, undulating waves shrouding space, entirely surrounding you.
Words whispered from the depths of the swells, it's entrancing- your mind dwells.
 Always intimidated by the host of these temporary shells.

Space.

Always surrounding you, bending you, and compressing you.
Inevitably creating you, from itself, and itself from you.
For the purpose of understanding?
The process of evolution and replacement, of destruction and creation.
Knowledge being their only use.
But, these are patterns, not decree.
Everything is relative, it is what you conceive.
Reality is merely a piece.
It's specifically individual and unique.
And when the puzzle is completed tranquility will have it's release.

Oceans of energies oscillate around you.
Distant and abstracted you can't move.
Tangled internally, the ample emptiness only expands lament.
But within this vision you don't repent, this is your seed of creativity.
Yang can't exist without a yin, you can't feel tranquil is the opposite hasn't been.



-unfinished-