Tangled.

across the bowl filled with houses and streets

I see the jagged rim, cracked and covered in hues of green

the sun doesn’t quite paint all the crevasses and dips

trees sway in the december wind like waves that crest at the peaks

inside the bowl there are many souls who are always moving

like threaded beads on strings that weave around each other in an intricate web

a constant reminder of how beautiful stillness is…

but we all have obligations and days to pass

the hums, honks, and hustle fill the air like fresh-baked bread aromatics

in the shuffle, sometimes the beaded strings cross over their predetermined course

tangling up with someone else in the web

two people, two souls, two separate lives, two beaded strings, tangled together

 

whenever these lines cross we call it love or chaos, a first kiss or a funeral 

you may untangle from someone else but your strings will never be the same

your stories will always have dog-eared pages that you flip back to from time to time

im on top of the rim where I can see the movement and flow of the people in the city 

I see the network of strings weaving thru it all

I see how they get tangled and untangled and how that affects the web as a whole

I have watched my own strings get knotted up and then untied

and I can see how that has changed the course of how i am threaded thru time. 

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