Life births itself in rampant possibility,
seeds of probabiliy blown wildly free,
adrift on raging winds of pure potential,
so is our destiny laid out for none to see,
but left within imagination, what might be,
and so we walk, not seeing; experiential.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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1 Response to Possibility

  1. C.C. says:

    I’ve read this over a couple of times because it is so very observant, poignant…….and just lovely on top of that!! Excellent 🙂

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