All we have is a shout in the wind
A temporary expression
Half an accident, half an impulse
Half a second episode
of a novella our descendents once started
In that short time will we paint reality
With our myriad emotions
Invisible art on the air
Colors of ourselves we can not see
A shout it is
Until we are hoarse in that moment
In space where the lack of oxygen robs our volume
The ability to continue our echoing utterance
There is only silence and starlight
The shout is over
Emptiness welcomes
Transformation flows out here
For there is no purpose in the vacuity
Amelioration comes on as certain as new life
Beyond the dead shouts
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