Passion

Passion is not volume
but rather the soul bearing dusk
that echoes an omniscience  creator

Passion is not visible
but it is the quiddity of lost myths and legends
the heart needs to feel to sustain its existence

Passion is the mother that holds and feeds
her child close to her breast,
her milk providing nourishment to survive

Passion is the wrinkles that ripple and crinkle
around one’s body revealing the mortality
of time and the fleetingness of life

Passion is the metacognition of living:
memories firmly stacked upon each other,
an archive of moments elapsed