How things used to be/ How they might become.

[joshiamurri]

Literature is made up of fragments of letters creating words, of which create a sentence into paragraphs, all forming an intellect form of recollection or new insight for the reader. But, it takes more then just combining certain words, or your own feelings down on a piece of paper to create something extraordinary. All of which is the ability of recalling thoughts, ideas, beliefs, the past, present etc. Yet, with the experiences and decisions we make, it leaves a subjective scenario of which cannot be specific, or broken down into a simplistic outline. As the high and low tides create their own artistic designs through the sand, moving in and out with the gravitational field. Creating atmospheric images of which are unsystematic...I feel as if this is my own life. A life of which at this point is always changing, whether the waves are restless or calm. I am the sand of this unforeseen beach. Transcended by the opaque simplicity of the mind, I leave with a view of a more diversified selection of a new beginning or unfinished project.
I look I see...I stop I listen...I think I know...I know nothing!