Bone Echo

Sometimes it defies

imagination.

Who we need to be,

how we become,

who we’re meat to be,

who we are,

lost in the space between,

lost in the stars.

 

A voice is just an echo

off our bones

and  a little bit

of electricity,

so how is that supposed to be

identity?

Continuity?

 

Alive

in every way possible,

but dying

at the same time.

We’ve always been

such funny creatures;

staring at the Sun

and going blind

every night.

Loving for the feeling

and then fighting

where it leads us

with all our might.

Right is wrong

as long as it’s alright

and up is down,

so long as we’re around

and we still love the sound

ringing off our own bones.

It tells us we’re here,

in the atmosphere.

 

Maybe we can run away

to some other place

where things are different,

but we’re not made

for playing games

in any other way;

that’s why what makes sense,

makes sense.

Besides,

it doesn’t matter anyway.

We’re only here for today

and after tomorrow

our plans will change.

Our minds will walk away.

 

Sometimes we defy

imagination.

Who we are.

Who we’re going to be.

One day,

we’re going to be

possibilities.

 

HG – 2017