Faintly scented breeze sways trees
entraptured eyes hidden below
shadowed forms pressed together
lovers bearing light within

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Random thought

Are words just an approximation of our thoughts? If so, then what is the integral? Where is the Calculus to exact the sum under the curve of consciousness? Can a man really find out man? Or is he left to only comprehend himself completely, while the thoughts of others exist as the solution to an equation, derived and never known as a present thing? Perhaps the world of language is more exact than is supposed here. Perhaps words are only triggers to complex mental processes. After all, language is only the vibration of air particles, or the ink on a page; pixels on a screen as well. Each, in its microscopic state, is nothingness. But when viewed as a whole, it becomes a symphony that will guide the listener or the reader in his thoughts toward an ultimate conclusion.
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