We are both creator and created.
I search for the threshold of wonder,
the moment before meaning hardens into certainty.

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I cannot rest until I shape an expression
that lingers like an afterimage,
a question too vast to answer.

 

Every puddle might be a portal,
a rupture in the fabric of the ordinary—
transcending the known, unraveling thought.
 

 

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We are both creator and created.
researching the threshold of wonder,
where structure emerges from a coma,

 

absence of knowledge ,
where meaning flickers before it vanishes.- 

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I cannot rest until I carve an expression
that lingers like an afterimage,
a ghost of form, unfinished yet undeniable.

Finding patterns in disorder:

like stars forging constellations - put together to a hallucinated meaning based on our fear to be be like dust,
 

Every puddle might be a portal,
every shadow the echo of something lost.

structures dissolving, reassembling,
the world forever unfinished, like thought itself.

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We are both creator and created
I try to find the beginning of wonder, to maintain that moment
I can't rest untill I find a suitable, worthy expression;

that impragnates your brain. Finding patterns in chaos:
Like stars forming constellations of our fears,

every puddle, might be a portal- 

transcendending our minds-

dance with my mistakes around the black hole of my destination,

a abyss that contains suffering and passion.

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