The Art Form of Change

Words melt into a sentence constructed by thought.
Each word transitioning from independent to congruent
as they start merging into a line.
Each person growing by a manifest of conditioning.
All containing a power they soon forget.
Our own beliefs,
the cycle of the seasons,
the time of day; we are in motion.
We are change down to the last cell in our system.
Yet, it fears us.
We see the darkness in the light.
We seen our true colors in ourselves
but also taught to fear and forget.
We are our own limitations, we are our own adaptation.
We are change itself.
Yet a word ,yet a person.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem