May it be

My thoughts are an octopus.

It's many, restless tentacles

stretching, curling, gliding through the quiet.

Odd, how vividly I feel them shift—
changing shape, changing colour—
alive, almost breathing,
not just some fabrication of the mind.

Quick, careless creators we are,
sending ideas spinning into existence—
formed in intricate, hidden ways,
a sudden bolt of hope or faith
sparking them into motion.

And yet, the very same beat,
a single, passing nanosecond

can scatter them
back into nothing.