same old same new (writ)
spring slips through my fingers like sand, melting into the molten glass of summer.
the sun passes overhead (the same cycle, everyday, no matter what i do) as a bird flits by; a sparrow, despite how small it is, still has a heart that beats. tiny arteries and tiny veins running all throughout its minuscule body. a single action costs it much more effort than it would ever cost me. my heart beats once - it's beats ten times.
and yet, here i lie. face upturned, watching it pass. and yet, here it flies. wings beating wildly, fighting for each second of its flight. does it ever wish to rest? does it ever laze, wasting the afternoon away? is it capable, of feeling discontent, in its busyness?
the molten glass of summer melts and freezes into the frosted mirror of winter.
breaths condense, the world stills. silence, instilled by the snowfall. soft-footed rabbits skitter across as the river freezes over, white fur softer than the flakes that fall. nervous hearts, race and whine as they sit still, cottontail unmoving. warm blood, red and steaming, courses under its white fur. does it find respite in the winter? a stillness, in the dead season? can it feel rest, with the way it's heart courses?
i have not moved from where i lay, do not move from where i lay. the seasons pass, (the same cycle, everyday, no matter what i do) and the earth turns. the mirror erodes, into sand, and slips through my cupped hands, soundlessly, again. life slips by.