Remote Reunion

This little volume of air wants to call itself a pot.

It can never be the pot, but only the ocean of air.

Still it clings on to the clay pot.

The glimmer of a soul wrapped and woven in the fathoms, occasionally seems to see some light, probably that generated from the small creatures in the ignorant depths.

The light of the sun is deeper and farther outside the surface than the depths inside.

Published by Sang

I am a freelance writer. I write what comes to my mind.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create your website at WordPress.com
Get started
%d bloggers like this: