we paint the world with the souls of our feet
each breath we take has
a purpose — a moment –a place in time
meant just for it
the passion runs hot like blood from a wound
through our toes — our fingertips — our eyes
our movement
and you can see it
you can see the life we give to each shape
and you can feel it
so deeply your soul whispers to you y(our) story
we move through time like an arrow finding its target
and the day when our bodies are still
you will know — we will know
that our life has ended
time will stand as still as that of a decaying corps
space will suffocate us as he taunts us with his great potential
and though we are breathing
our soul has died