If you can't tell
I'm crying
Ever so silently.
Please,
Don't turn on the light.
Look more deeply
into the Darkness
instead and
come to bed.

If you can't tell
That I feel,
Remember
I am really,
I'm real
I'm really real.

In the beginning
The word
It sounds,
Moving clouds
Stirred by the wind,
Born on sun's rays,
Rushed along the eastern tide
Of mother water,
Pushing earth
Ever eastward.

Can you catch time?
Time
Of the birthing
Of a soft breeze?
Can you analyze each pulse
of every heart
of every being
adrift
in this amoebic maze of
corpuscular chaos?