That drop in the ocean
Which causes a ripple that spreads,
Circle after circle after circle.
A hole in our hearts,
A yawning emptiness;
A longing for something that’s missing
Life in death,
Freshness in rottenness;
The belief that freedom is in a cage.
That little mustard seed
Planted on the fecund soil of expectation,
Which must surely grow.
The rain in the drought,
The calm in the tempest,
And a troubled smile shakily saying “all will be well.”
The warm glow in the heart,
Spreading gradually through the body.
An echo; strong at first,
Then changing into rebounds after rebounds of nothingness,
Till it loses its name.
Just a name we wrap our hearts around,
Because all we want is a breath of fresh air.