I exist e v e r y w h e r e
but at the same time,
I am nothing.
A ghost with unfinished business;
a bleeding heart with too much hemorrhaging.
Others are not responsible for my happiness,
yet I continue to reach for them in the stars.
Their lives flash by and I am but a speck of dirt on their window–
to be washed away by the rain.
The passion I pour onto a page is muddy water.
It is no more important than the speck on the window,
yet the pool of mud delves deep into the earth,
deep into the life-giving center of everything.
And as time passes, the trees blur by the window.
And I become a tree only to blur past.
I’ve become a storm;
howling and knocking people off their feet.
Yet I am invisible and my yelling is merely nature;
It’s nothing more than the wind.
©2021 Shane Blackheart