Center


A torrent of unending change
we chase that wind in hopes of holding it
swaddled tightly to our chest
so we might call it our own
so we can call ourselves owned by it

Ever elusive
it remains just out of reach
as we stumble in the wake
of that very thing we seek
and are too foolish to know
that we too are sought by

And when our legs grow tired
and our heart grows numb
and head too heavy to hold up
we find either
a comfort of realization
of always-was
or that we’re left with our
empty spirit depleted
from never knowing fully
we never should have ran