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bottle a moment
Its funny how we use words to catergorise
when they fall so short of capturing anything
anything
real
and in the moment.
Moments spent catergorising
instead of living
things can just slip through our fingers
we are trying to hold onto very fine sand
the sand of time can never be held
It slips by, nothing slows it.
All that fruitless time spent grasping
for what will fall, fallen.
Our hearts ache to capture moments
that wont be here tomorrow
instead of enjoying the feeling
of the sand slipping through our fingers.
His fur and warmth and smell cannot
be likened to any feeling word
It cannot be compared as every word comparison falls short
in its capture.
Even though I want to enjoy it
some human part of me aches to bottle it
in the knowledge of our moments slipping by
wishing for the fable of forever
I know it wouldnt smell
taste, feel, touch, look
as good as in a bottle.
Consumerism falls short of our expectations
but still we try.
