Thoughts floating on the breeze

Bubbles in the air

Sometimes aimless

Sometimes pointed

Some drift away slowly

Some fall to the ground

Tying us to a memory

Of an old life

Or to a dream

Of future past

Never knowing we could choose

Which thoughts stay

And which drift on the breeze

Leaving us forever

Nesting in our misery

Or our happiness

The choice is ours.

 

By Deborah E. Dayen

Picture from Google Images