thoughts of the incontent

Holding on to the undefinable,
The silvery thing called love.

In the midst of all this grey you seem,
Why, nearly solid
A dream
Consisting of goodbyes and
Broken tomorrows.

Yet grasping, my hand holds only
The common thread
The common thread of a blind existence.
Looking for you, I find the imagination.

Searching for you,
For it,
For my existence,
I find reality.

Looking for that silvery thing,
'Can't quite ever touch it,
yet if the earth can kill,
Why live a solid existence
When a blow
Why, a blow could take it all away