Water

When you tell me I have no passion, my heart breaks a little. Because, you do not see it. I am not a rain torrent. Nor am I the ferocious sea with wave after wave of destruction and noise. No, I am the tear drop, A slow, constant drip on the stone that will wear it down after time. My soft release and small splash will slowly erode the earth. But you will not see it. I am not a fire, raging through and gutting everything around me. No, but my passion simmers in my belly, every day. You just do not see it. I do not scream it from the mountain tops. I do not demand the attention of the billions with a shouting voice. No, I whisper it in on the breeze while you sleep and it is heard by the reeds along the river. It is carried by the wind over walls into places that need to hear it. I walk quietly in the trees and I tell the tiny life living there all my dreams and desires. And they hear me. And they don’t have to say a word for me to know that they did. I pray to the stars and the darkness above me in the sky and I know those waves of worry and hope sore up to ears I cannot see, yet I know they hear me. I feel it. Every. Day. Twinkle Twinkle, little star…how I wonder…and I know who you are…

No passion? You don’t see it. I live it every day. You just don’t, or won’t see me. –Ay

the ocean

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