We sing

we dance

we paint

many things with whirling hopes that surmount to withering after they fall off the tree that was thought to grow paper. Trapped in our own thoughtfulness a glance passed to us

 all but passes in our dreamy stance.

 Nobody but you, nobody but me knows the expectations flittering around casting all the pressure, each singularly with most importance.

 Pick up your feet faster and faster in the sequence of events in a chain, try to sort the links. 

Holding back from dancing, same as halting on everything else. It’s not easy to break the links; you’ll be apart from all the other linkages.

 Unsure, just plop down, dance, sing, and paint the walls.

 There’s then a spell cast on you, apart from the rest. Seeing allusions never seen before… can you hear that?

 Nothingness… louder than expected. What stops us from this sanity?

Philosophical eh?

Lay in a summer field and ponder the silence. It comes in good time. Running in darkness in the hazy field you will see… beyond is...shhhh you will see as you find it. Just lay under a giant oak or field and you’ll find it.

Silence.