It burns,
it cries
Yelling
Screaming
Moaning
Crying
Laughing
Dancing
Its cold
yet hot
passion
dead
empty
full
alive or dead
no one knows, its a song
a track, a soul
a piece of imagination
a string of sounds
placed one after an other, dancing together in a matrix of
matter
moving
up
down
sideways
left
right
right and left
yet these sounds,
these movements
we listen to,
reverberating into the abyss that is space,
ending, when nothing starts
a complex mesh of memories
we strang together
so we can remind ourselves of times past
of times to happen
or just simply
that we are indeed alive.
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