We are fragile, fleeting collisions
much like dovewings tripping.

Accellerating intake,
burdening under the endless snows
of apathy.

We don't mean anything, do we?
Incandescent fades,
finger by finger disappearences.
I am the invisible outline of what was
and has been.

Call me wind and rain,
instilled in the atmosphere,
uneffected by the pressures.

I am a corporeal mass
envisioned but never seen.
I am made simply of dew drops
water vaporously mean.


Anonymous said...

the invisible outline of what was
and has been...

ever, this is beautiful as always... i always love reading your poems.

Ever said...

Thank you dear haze :) your blog is so lovely, I'm sorry that I don't get a chance to comment much, I am always reading though. Xxx