lost in translation

sometimes she thinks she knows.
she goes on with these thoughts of sureness for days, months, the rest is known. Her pain simply lost in translation. in the flow of materials, others, rapid wildness we call life. new ache comes. new brokenness. new joy. but new. the old floats away, buried even. ignored? maybe.
then a moment. maybe more, maybe not. a glance at hope or pain. a stare. a connection with time and all things in this.
Suddenly she feels a long past something or other. no idea what the hell occurs. no understanding. good, bad, indifferent, but everything shifts. dark to light. light to dark. night to day. song to silence. stilness to dance.
she thinks again. and still wondering. still lacks clarity.
there is no need to define, sometimes. sometimes life just must be released. like a balloon. floating up. and this we know.

for the moment all is thrown; lost again while translated.
what she knows not fumbles, but one truth from something higher: life is still a broken masterpiece. these days have a heartbeat, and even when none is fully known, mere meaning still exists.


"Grape on the vine
We've been alone a long time
Grape on the vine
Why not be crushed to make wine?." Mewithoutyou