Of What Mountains are Made

Heartbeat,

Heartache,

Heartbeat,

Heartache,

Round the circle,

It forms from further away.

Shadows casting nets,

Masking my face,

They don’t let me see through their gaping holes.

All I see is the rope that binds me.

It’s is a beautiful rope and bares further inspection.

See the weave?

See the loom that made it?

See the origins of the great net in which we are bound?

Bound or unbound?

We need only stand.

We need only move.

And the weave unravels.

You have a choice,

Heartbeat

Heartache

Heartbeat

Heartache

Are they different?