Posted in life, Poetry, Random

force majeure

High thoughts

higher dreams,

elevation.

The physical plane

can’t clip my wings.

My flower

a gift to life

infinitely expanding, exploring,

floating along

my thought streams.

Nectar, so sweet

rare taste of magic…

Trying to imagine the  whole of life

at its core

bends the mind almost achingly

a brute force majeure:

hurts so good, I can’t think –

only feel;

I see everything –

and want crave

more.

Author:

Curating Personal Year 9. Wife and mom of 3. Writer. Zentrovert. Aspiring Engineer. Resident Badass.

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