ever full

torn paper
the beat of wings
turn of a leaf

a passing shadow
less than before
now a memory

a streak of chrome
a trail of red in the night
the world passing by

this, and more
unspoken thoughts
become a fount

taking shape
in words, colors
seeping across the page

holding everything, and nothing
the reader left to decide
the poet’s intent

empty hands, cupped
hold more than the universe
has to offer, hopes, wishes

left unfulfilled, leaving nothing
from the past but memories,
yet all of the future

This began as two stanzas (the final two),
which were the tangent taken by my thoughts
after reading Kerfe’s Across the Universe.

~ Day 27 ~