I hold a heavy heart,
Sometimes you get stuck,
With a thought.
Images and worlds,
Past, present and future,
Kith and kin and friends.
Everything seems a blur,
Flowers bloom, inevitably-
Thoughts start a slur.
I try to make sense,
Of the benign and brute,
In between penchant emotions.
Strings move blood,
And brushes paint the sky-
Dreams of a flight.
What can be held,
That isn't alive?
What can crawl the mind,
Which isn't a love?
Yet.
