Every attempt at work or of creation is shattered with time. The buildings, the sculptures, the paintings and everything is just lifted as a feather and carried by the wind away through space.
Time carries these creations up and down through perception of the people all around but comes the time and that feather has to fall apart. We knowing that nothing is eternal from the start. Even the life-giving sun, has a limit of years to run.
We can enjoy this flight of our creations and hope that they would outlast our own lives, that are not so far from that flying feather by themselves. We are too, our parent’s and society’s creation running around in space doing good and doing bud flying up and down and sideways.
Everything is falling apart, in the end, such is the bittersweet truth. It makes life more poetical I’d state cause you know that someday you’ll fall away and makes you value this extraordinary stay.
The songs, the rhythms the words you say. Mischievous deeds inflicted upon you and by you, that you try and contemplate. It all makes us so unique and same, the very same time. There is no extraordinary in a world where you have one to seven million chance of being born, at all.
Life is just something that happens and you roll as good as you know. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Because the farther you down the better is your story, the wiser is your soul.