One voice is but band of notes and shapes bound together by air. How does it rise up to beat against the current of the wind? Our voices are not heard; they scatter like leaves on a playground lot, soon to be swept up and tossed away. We think we can reach other lonely souls, make connections, quench our thirst for expression with a few imaginary lines. But our thoughts plunge into cyberspace; our voices drenched in the thundering waterfall of anonimity. Our only hope is to scream. And when that doesn't work, we are doomed to lie forgotten. One grain of sand on the ocean floor.
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3 comments:
Oh, but to BE that grain of sand, drifting 'cross the ocean floor! Existing in a world ever shifting, ever changing around us... Our thoughts, separate from the collective - independent and free to explore. Allowed to make a difference, an impression on the lives that are touched. Not forgotten, no - remembered.
Wow, that's beautiful.
*bemused*
I did say you were inspiring, yes?
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