Posted in Sunday Wordle, tagged breathing, human nature, humanity, life, living, mutuality, Peace, poetry, Wordle, writing on October 17, 2015|
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I cannot pick the next breath I take,
whether cumulus of happiness or debris of hate.
For the air that enfolds us all is critical for survival.
Although parts of me escape, into this wild oneiric celestial blue.
I practice to inhale deeply, hidden, mystic parts of you.
Therefore no one can divorce themselves
from this mutual espousal of breath.
For we all are at rest, within this marriage cloud of human life.
Whether peace or strife, pleasure or pain.
All leave their stain in the cloud.
Its true, whether we walk or run we always owe a debt.
But as we pluck the next breath, it subtly transforms us
by the weapons of its fare.
So this I love; an expandable view of intrinsic air,
a reciprocity of pneumatic food, energy, and path we share.
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