When there is nothing left to say

How many songwriters, novelists, poets, writers, artists have come before us.

How many have made their mark and been your sip of medicine for the hour, for the day.

And how many times have we felt those same emotions and slipped our way through the cracks until a little bit of something shakes us awake and the sky has never been bluer.

And in that moment of clarity, we rise to our clearest version of ourselves and soak up the glory, until tired, in the notion, when we look around and see the unorginal reflection in a grubby mug of water.

To that I say hello, again. Fancy seeing you here. I’d like to shake your hand and discover how green the grass is all over again.