An array of rocks sat so peaceful. Different shades of color, unique texture and feature, yet their radiance was significantly equal.
Bathing in this heat, I share their comfort beneath my feet. Appreciating all that allows me to feel, without sensation nothing would seem real.
When the sun falls, the moon is rising ... weather is always revising.
What a wonderful feeling, a warm day never ceases to satisfy my being.
In the summer, we look forward to winter. Then the cold arrives, we begin to miss the heat. Could we ever be content with what we are currently given?
Satisfaction, how long does it last? How long do we allow it to be? When we feel it, do we emerge in its presence or await the next euphoria?
They call it a phase, but that should be the least of our gaze.
We are alive because of what moves us internally. The external world, just a stimulation, not to alter a feeling that is true ... when it’s new, as we grew, why would we act so cruel, when all this time we already knew, all we need is an alternate view.
Awaiting perfection? Or rejecting progression?
Our daily feelings, liquidized, soaked into a sponge. Now imagine this sponge contains our past ... wouldn’t it be nice to squeeze it and let go of everything at last? Pour it all into a hole, instead of allowing it to take its toll.
Expecting a higher gain but tolerating discomfort til it's met, meanwhile striving to fill unwanted voids. Are we held back due to fixation, possibly sped up with too much anticipation ... these are phases as we reach for satisfaction.
We blame our upbringing, instead of taking control; limiting ourselves to what we believe limits us.
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