Glass seeds

Life is a starburst gift conceived in the gilded soil of angel hearts. Living on the other hand thrives in the salty eyes of swells and troughs needles woven into bike bells and ice cream cones. Living breathes to bend you into and out of its will from valley to mountain to the misty hills it bends you into things you could never dream about.. into the storm of eternity into the tidepool of a stillness beyond stillness. It speeds up into a crimson tangle and slows down into thick blueness swells and troughs kings and clowns juggling brief victory and endless grief and loss The bending is acceptable; we paint it the human experience but breaking the soul of all things is the devil's only thought we are its glass seeds tossed over the gilded swells into the black throated troughs, where nothing ever grows. The mundane (the middle child) is a forest of contemplation reflection a place of steady growth.... or not The soil will eventually join the sea bringing everything back home... like it was always meant to be..