In passing

By passerby



There is laughter in the clouds,
A story in every drop of dew
Happiness that floats like a soap-bubble
Across morning meads and snow,
Grasshoppers that sing in deep baritones,
Even staircases, that lead to the stars;
There are bottomless pitchers of music,
Beckoning us to drink
And ships that sail across galaxies
Bringing magical stones back home;
There are empty pedestals
Waiting for each one of us,
And should we choose to speak,
Our voices shall cascade across rocks
Like thundering waterfalls,
There are paintings yet to be painted,
Marked across the membrane of time
And cicadas, who shall carry you
Upon the breath of their droning
To a home you always knew;
There is much wonder here,
Much to see in overlooked places
And much joy to feel,
Too much, to crave for another life.

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