All of the particles left their source.
They danced upon the breeze,
pirouetted amongst the leaves,
and tiptoed onthe curves of clouds.

They sparked amongst the flames,
chilled on the tundras of ice,
bounded from rock to rock,
and swam into the waves.

They pulsed with happiness,
and rolled with sadness,
careened off nothingness,
they returned to bliss.

They affected the old, young,
and those in between time,
gracing strong, and weak,
sinners and divine.

They shot towards the sky,
and burrowed underground,
reaching for heights, then
yearning to not be found.

They found color, light,
and spectrums unseen.
Touching paints, palettes,
And beautiful paintings.

They sped through forest,
Through mountain, and vale,
They slowed through the desert,
And through tundras of pale.

They have touched all,
these particles of mine,
I’ll keep sending them out,
until I have no time.

I will take what they bring,
Each tiny sensation.

Each spike of joy,
And puncture of pain.

Each aura of warmth,
and shiver of cold.

Every comfort of closeness,
and anguish of loneliness.

All senses of wholeness,
and fragmented absence.

Each time tasting sweetness,
and that tinge of sourness.

Every glimpse of a sunrise,
and views of dark cellars.

They make me whole, each little thing,

All of these wonderful particles, and all they bring.

Humbly yours,

J