Waves;

An endless sea stretches across the galactic rift
as far, twice farther still, than eye can see, mind fathom;
the waves running, crashing ever forward, fleeing forgotten
births - headlong toward unknown endings;

and they writhe -
and they crash.

Endless undulations against, around, over and under each other,
an eternal dance of change, hunger, harmony and conflict.
Waves; they sustain, and they drain, each the other.
And none - whether willing or not, may choose the time of each
Wave's meetings and greetings and mergings - the when
and the how one Wave flows around and through the other.
Not the time, not the length, not the reason; neither for will
nor for want, nor for need even, may the Wave dictate
the intersecting with the Wave.

Alone - singular Waves joined by that which binds them forever
as one - nothing will cause, permit, union until both
have starved enough to need the body of another to love -
to live.

While the age-old debate between
choice,
or choice-less-ness, rages;

Does the raindrop choose willingly, freely, to flow down, down,
down, down the Earth's hillside, slipping ever forward until -
fleeing forgotten births among the clouds - they come
to their unknown endings
among the Waves?

Or choice-less, required to suffer a wound
only wholly healed in the dying, the drying,
are those drops of rain destined to flow endlessly
from one galactic shore towards another - One further
distant than the furthest
of infinities?

We undulate -
We writhe -
And we crash.

We writhe, and we crash, endlessly against, around, over
and under each other with that endless, mad,
need to fill that hole formed
at our birthings.

_{(Tuesday, March 22, 2011 @ 22:21)}