27. Parallel (Poem) 

 

I was, 

A string of life long, just as long as I’ve lived,

A spaghetti of fate, Ran through pasta sauce spilt, 

Searching.

I was, 

Looking for something, or someone, for meaning and wonder, 

A lengthy line scrawled on the aged face of time, 

A line lost alone, confident in design. 

Solitary. 

I am, 

No longer a line, but a half of much more, 

I’m the left to a right, the black to a white, the dark to a light, the day to a night, the end to the sight, 

The Ying. 

We are, 

Parallel. 

(Photo – Eli Woodbine, Budapest, 2015) 

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