The things we do...
The things we hide...
Our hopes,
Our dreams...
Our fears...
This heart can be warm,
Hotter than a blast furnace...
This heart can be so cold
That electrons
Cease their spinning...
Things we do...
The secrets we keep...
Sometimes so well kept
That we don't even tell ourselves...
We immerse them
In the void of forgetting...
They whisper to us
While we sleep,
The good and the bad,
The spectacular and miraculous,
As well as the abominations...
This heart can be
Swooningly beautiful,
And it can be
Nauseating ugly,
All while the surface
Looks exactly the same...
The things we forgive,
And the things that we don't,
About ourselves,
About others...
What eats you alive,
From the inside out,
And what creates you
From two microscopic dust motes
Growing into
The person you will be...
Good and evil
Are but human constructs...
We are here to experience
All of it...
Victim or perpetrator,
Observer and observed...
Quiet moments alone...
Longing for conversations
With old friends,
Or new...
Gregarious times
Entertaining the crowd,
Juggling words,
Or singing to strangers...
Firelight and moonbeams,
Shattered glass and blood...
Hearts as hot as a blast furnace...
Hearts as cold as the void...
And everything in-between...
These are why we exist...
This search for meaning
Is the meaning of life...
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