Wandering Thoughts

The passion that is words, Is woven magic in the sun. Individual heat on our tongues, This is the heart in our run.

The drive towards our highs, Fuels the passion in our lows. The utmost height of the sky, Flies higher with the crows.

There is no boundary to love, No depth enough to fill. The heaven that is hope, Is an upside down hill.

If I couldn’t swallow my emotions, Into the crevice I would pour. To escape the mind’s gates, Without which I would soar.

Without inclination, Idiosyncrasy is just a trait. If willing to push back, The finish line won’t be late.