By knowing all, we become barren, without hope or dream. That which comes with uncertainty. Encircling our dark storms, possibilities—for completion. Though our hands may dig in mortal soil, may cling in passage, leaves blown from the tree, memories scattered round stone. I do not know to whom it shall pass, but I may hope it finds a familiar voice.
Inspired by: William Butler Yeats and The Rag and Bone Shop of The Heart, a poetry anthology
Image by: May Xiong