all emotions and personas and vivid realities find finite rest.
the birds and the bees and all of man kind takes a vow of unimpeded silence.
Venturing out into a lesser known element where the bounds of consciousness are loosed
one can see the singularity of reality;
under a single star in the cradle of his own terrestrial companion as viewed on the blank slate of darkness
one can see absolutely nothing out of regularity, nothing out of form nor anything novel or to cause alarm.
We see as is truth,
simplicity is not only a virtue, but a very reality of all that is.
That human condition is what sets us apart from unending simplicity, rhythm and monotony.
Yet looking up on a blank canvas of imagination-- that sight miles above our foreheads with the beating of thunder and the unending stream of celestial bodies-- nothing speaks of simplicity. Hesitation breeds outright anger seeing with our own very eyes, that what lies outside our quilted blankets and plastic framed glasses is so much more that simplicity. It is life. It is the condition of reality.
We recognize as is truth,
nothing puts forth the same diligence as does intelligence.
The sun will rise in a a half a dozen hours. The ache of loss is numbing the back of mind and uncovered toes. Sprinkles of rain anoint cold cheeks. The unspoken validation of warm summer winds breathes life on the hair once bleached in sunlight.
We feel and we do not understand. Simplicity and reality are two very different things yet at this moment they walk together hand in hand across the absence and void. Sharing a laugh and sitting together in the darkness, one is indistinguishable from the other.