Bubbles
Each day is born and unborn Like life. Hours and moments Things and tasks Intentions, aberrations Clockwork. Each day You form and rise in me Like bubbles. No space vacant No dreams trapped How do you still form.. At which depth.. How do you rise.. Why do you burst.. And form again. Like the ocean spray Carrying a seed of dust At its heart, Like those that rise From champagne flutes And change a taste, Like underwater storms That implode within And sink the ships. These bubbles of you Need to be watched Not done anything to. [Soap Bubbles : Thomas Couture] ........................................