I suppose we are all one hit wonders,
each heart beat
within every human
unique and melodic
in its own way,
every sunset poetic,
every tear prophetic,
each dream sacred
within the undulating folds
of each day
wrapped inside the memories of a universe,
composed of quantum
strings
that sing
across a Milky Way
on a Tuesday
afternoon
entertaining Thursdays
on Friday morning
when Mondays are forgotten
in the twilight of our lives
as we grapple with the questions
we were too afraid to ask
ourselves
when we chased time
and space
only to realize
that what we think
is not how we feel,
or real,
in the ways we were taught
in schools
with arbitrary rules
protected by men
and their tools,
fools
carrying ideas on their backs,
building bombs
and launching attacks
on outer spaces
that bleed
within hearts
that need
sunsets
and tears
more than numbers and years,
rivers and dreams
more than pots of gold,
laughter and love
more than certainty,
because rainbows
never grow old
nor do hearts
that open and fold
in a universe that may be black
yet need not be cold,
because the meaning of life
is in between the spaces we see,
it’s what we hold
and what we breathe,
blurring the difference
between you and me
earth,
sky
and sea,
as we wave
within another
for eternity,
blades of grass
swaying in open spaces
carrying the remnants
and faint traces
of the lives lost
and the cost
because silence
is a sound
that feels hollow,
and we are what we follow.

There is a world inside
every song 
experienced in every heart
within the souls
of those who live on planets
that spin
inside galaxies that turn,
dreams that burn
within
the hopes and fears
of lost men at sea,
always searching
for the elusive ‘me’
within the me
that cannot change
because it must not die
nor must we try
to decipher
because
there is space
in every time,
time in every space,
love in every trace
of what once was
alive and real,
tangible and could feel
the wind,
the fire,
the earth,
and the sea
that churns beneath
the sky,
the dome,
the envelope,
the home,
the beauty
amidst the fear
behind the smile,
perched on the tear
of the woman
who holds
and carries the sphere,
the here
beyond the now,
past the how,
outside the known,
beneath the love,
outside thought,
before yesterday
and tomorrow
exists a universal sorrow
that once one is,
one eventually will not,
and yet galaxies will spin
and light will travel
and the sun will never set.