cement pillars of trees

As I sit in this bittersweet slience I feel the breeze of the door welcoming new faaces,new hearts,news stories and new endings. Touch their eyes with your heart and feel the warmth of a coincidence subside in your chest; slowly expanding through your veins making a journey to the very tip of your fingers. Your fingers only; the one thing that seperates you from the person whose eyes so deeply you configure. Wonder; Deep they look, the story they tell, of loves wicked past, or a life that may not last we shall not ever stoop so low as to assume the prerequsities for this ever growing life. We breathe in the breeze again, admiring it is all our air, in good times and bad we share. We watch it carry seasons baring new emotions, baring it all as tiems get busy, and enjoying the nakedness of some hearts in the dead of winter when not a soul is peeking. That warmth of coincidence feels almost as exact the cold air wehen it hits your chest at a dead stop. A brick may be placed above your heart, holding you hostage yet again, however hope remains in the eyes of a stranger, we feel safe. For all they do and don't know about us, all they know is what our eyes do tell. This hope is as tall as the marble pillars that hold the church where you once believed nothing far from greatness could happen to you. Yet the cement which creates them is just as cold and hard as this life at times proves to be.Embrace, we embrace strangers in hope that they fill the void of what we don't know And what we know we need. Belief in the heart and sincerity of a strange soul makes this life as green as the oldest and wisest tree this earth could offer. For it has seen all, the bark like our skin, slowly gaining more scars of this life we call our own, and the leaves give us comfort in feeling they are our emotion, easily changed and easily blown away. Yet this tree can easily die, those leaves change color, ever so pale that bark becomes as we watch the life slowly drain from the highest leaf the deepest root; three feet below parallel to where you would have been if the eyes of a stranger did not sawy your aching heart. We give trust more easily than we realize in that is beauty for time is our best and worst friend it hold the secret that is where we'll end up and when we'll be parallel to the root of that tree.