Neurons fire in a cyclonic fashion
Creating chaos within stolid eyes.
Ideas and fears swirl in and around hopes and dreams leaving thought littered with debri. And all you see is me.
Turmoil hidden beneath the stone facade framing crystal blue orbs. The whisper of my voice radiated through the smile belying the half truths I swallow to feed the storm. And all you hear is me.
The thunder reverberates along my spine without knowledge of the thought like branches clattering not knowing the wind, or it’s direction. All this collateral damage and all you feel is me.
Rain cleanses my soul through a curtain of prismatic pain like pollen being washed from trees mixing with oil streaked puddles swirling green and blue. I stare within and wonder at the bitter hold life had on me, and now my clouded thoughts are pierced with beams of hope. And all you taste is me.
I knew the storm was coming, but you just kept talking unable to smell the humid wet warning of what’s to come. The rain sends its scent whispering through trees and traffic as a warning of more than getting wet. You couldn’t read my stillness, all you could smell was the possibility of me.
It’s all about intuition. The sixth sense that warns us to pay attention to the other five. We can feel with our eyes, see with a touch, or hear with our heart, but only if we listen with our soul what our spirit sees. And all you ever were is numb to me.