Cobwebs.
Of travails and trivia.
Of grind and gaiety.
Of plethora and penury.
And beneath these critter homes,
the cracks, the brokenness,
and this hollowness,
we shine,
each one of us,
in bits and pieces.
We all have that spark
in our souls,
that is
subdued, sublime, sufficing.
Our eyes light up,
hearts, swell with love,
spirits, zealous with passion,
when we dust away
those niches of our being
that hold our earnest desires.
We all thrive
on such
slivers of dreams,
subtle sparkles of hope.
But we all hide them
under the blanket layers
that tempt us to conform.
If only, ah! If only.
We become,
who we really are.
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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.