Are words without heart more marketing than art?
Is there any assurety my words sit on your lips
with the same joy they sit on mine?
I count on words to keep us all alive.
Or is it false security to believe in such vanity?
I sit quietly, in meek wonder at the power of words
to turn a cheek against a blow,
or use a laugh to turn aside sorrow.
As I await inspiration words flow.
I wonder how this can be so.
What is life but waiting to know?
What is hope but a quickening of spirit?
What is faith but a breath in and breath out?
What is love but accepting whatever comes about?
Has life any purpose or is it merely aspiration?
Is life simply our imagination?
Without imagination can we survive?
Can any nation?
I wait.
I breathe.
I accept.
I imagine.
I survive.
