A whim, like a ripple on a pond,
radiates out to eventually touch the shores
of reality, where ripples soak the earth,
and whims become considerations,
given form and machinations
to affect change.
A whim may then be purposeful,
find flight in manifestation,
and from a seemingly ambivalent beginning,
attach itself to thoughts
that may in time create circumstance,
find a hold on reality.
How many whims are fired,
given path in consciousness,
rather than just passing clusters of random words,
released carelessly and without heart,
yet some become more meaningful than art,
driving new directions.
So many thoughts are lost,
dissipated in the ether without even recognition,
brain spatterings without inclination,
amassing at our periphery, like space junk,
cluttering our minds with pointless refuse,
their shadows often a dim sun.
Yet whims are pointed,
no matter how obtuce,
released as some indolent want,
less invested but wanted all the same,
and where they lead a mystery,
a force in play or refuse for another day.
Tony DeLorger © 2017