The wind on the winding road...
The road, stretches out, like a vein that meets other veins
The Wind, as the blood within the veins, rushes through, as if breathes it's own life
For there is no life in blood as just itself
But in it, there is life to self what it is within.
As the wind, winds through, as action,
The proof of it,
Is the reaction
Of those it gives life to.
Without the other, there is none.
As my hand is holding the staff, it stretches
But I cannot without my hand
Hold onto the staff
And the staff alone, cannot be held without the hand to hold it.
I cannot hold, without an other.
The road conjoins
Linking together in it's journey, the passengers of life.
For without the passengers it is not a road to walk upon.
But a line that says, Here is here and there is there, within it's distance.
The road stretches out like my hand
And no life breathes upon it but another
For without those to breathe the life, there is no breath
And without the breath,
There is no life.