What is meaning truely?

Can you beat things and cut them open.

Until they scream it out?

Is the truth tainted by open eyes and open ears,

Or is that something passion does not allow?

So many keep their blistered feet on scolding pavement,

Not knowing, not caring,

Where it may lead them..

They only know moving is better than dwelling on the abscence of meaning.

Dwelling on the fact that they know nothing of the hell bellow,

and the skies above.

We may never venture there, 

So we only stare forward.

Can we comprehend our dreaming?

Does anyone care?

You may not have to.

Poetry finds you.

If you search for it, you may surely get lost.

It will not come in an obvious form,

And from where, we may never know for sure.

It chooses you.

It appears from the simplisities you may have never noticed before.

And all of a sudden you've turned everything around you,

And inside you complex.

Suddenly, nothing means what it once has before.

All that now matters, is releasing that inner storm.

Release is given to locked doors and dark corners, 

You have not yet searched,

Or even thought to be.

Then you begin to blend,

and realize these discoveries are everything you could hope to be.

Everything you are.