Bits and Pieces

On what may be love and what may not be

Love is to cherish the storm inside a person's body

To fall asleep listening to its outright (destructive) folly

To know some words hurt and some of them (only very few) are holy

It is to reckon that no matter how you look at it, a storm is a storm

And perhaps one day —out of all that havoc (all that joy and rage and chaos)

One may build up a peaceful place to call home

when the everlasting journey is finally,

with no place to any kind of doubts,

(with the wild wind calmed down to a whispered run around sweet word)

over (it is over), and for once —in the middle of that very beautiful gentle storm.