You are the china shop and I’m the bull,
I’m the muddy shoes on your white carpet.
You’re the watch and I’m deaf to the ticking clock.
You’re the eye and I’m the tornado circling
And still, somehow, I know
there lives a storm just below your surface.
Though often in motion like trees wagging in the wind,
I am also naked branches always reaching upward,
eager to burst through the tranquil sky, and you,
you yearn for the perfection of a tree
before the messiness of fallen leaves.
How different we two are, and yet really,
we are merely different seasons in a world full of change,
reflecting in each other the welcome patch of sunshine on a cold day,
or the relief of a lake wind on a blistering afternoon.
You are....I am....
we are....merely human, after all.
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