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]

........................................

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