The strangeness of
the thought bubbles
over everyone’s head as
we jostle and collide
our way through
the world.
Each person
an island of thought
amid a highway of thoughts.
The mingling and
meandering of constant
thought, surrounding us
every single second of
the day.
The bubbles of thought
weighing overhead like
black clouds, shimmering
with flashes of lightening
and rumbling with thunder.
Lonely bubbles. Floating in
the breeze, strayed from the
other bubbles. Bumping against
the ceiling, caught in a tree,
deflated on the ground,
un-tethered, snapped strings.
Every bubble shaded with
the palette of the thinker as
they drift and swim through
the rages of the air. Blue thought
bubbles for the sad. Yellow bubbles
for the happy, green for the jealous.
Purple bubbles for the angry.
Two thought bubbles,
caught together, entwined, meshed,
with reddish tones of love, as they
lazily drift together over the rubbery
cacophony of the of the individual bubbles
which rub and bump into each other in
crowds.
Giant bubbles and tiny bubbles,
Medium sized bubbles and hardly
a bubble at all, waft and wiggle
overhead of the people we see
every moment. It’s strange.
This poem is another bubble,
drifting above my
head, now drifting
over yours.
No comments:
Post a Comment