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Like a small compressed flower resting in a palm, a gale drifts across. The delicate petals, transformed from their original state adapt into a new space. It is cold inside yet there are flames to burn. The clocks tick, slowly, quickly, frantically. Words are but sounds, touches but fleeting connections that hold nothing but brevity. My mouth knows not what it says or does not do. Closure brings new moments. Moments bring new days. The expanse within is deep. Full of pangs and turmoil. We are told that a lack of backbone will not rise. Yet how do we find the ones with potential that are too meek to solicit the greatness that can arise? Your idea of beauty is nothing more than the greatest common denominator championed for its ability to be swallowed on a second's glance or within the enclave of space that has formed itself in your psyche. English is no more effective than their language or their guttural sounds. Your worth is not decided by the innovation or the change you bring to the world. What is your worth. What is worth. What is the worth within your mind? Within. With, in. Does swarthy ambience characterize you any more than synthesized harmonies on loop? Pop is nothing more and nothing less. The decree is the reaction. The reaction marks nothing more than your compartmentalized solmization. Does it make you more or less of a person? Find the quant that works and smile as if there is no tomorrow. Your beauty is your mystery. Your ability to hide what does not affect others is strength. Subtle birds flutter each day without being noticed. Find the scene where your notes can sing. The way your feet move, the warmth your heart emits, the touch that says more than any element of speech. What is your prerogative. These are pebbles decorating the expanses we create. Move enough together and you form a stone. Collect enough stones and force them together with pressure and time. You relinquish a new creation. You garner value. You sell what value you earn. You relish in your ingenuity. You develop again.