between the seer and the seen,
between the doer and the deed,
between what is concealed and what is known,
between what’s true right now
and that which only time can show,

there hangs a feeling, on a cross.
for every fortune gained,
for every decimating loss,
at every milestone we surpass
and every depth of loneliness
to which we find our descent.
one nail through the beginning,
another through the end,

there hangs a force.
it hangs forever.
and its sole duty is in drawing opposites together.
its only joy, however, is in pulling likes apart.
it’s both the artist and the art.

it is a part, of which itself it is a player.
it is a victim, of which itself it is a slayer.
it’s both the beauty and the beat of a beholding heart.
it sets the stage for moments when we meet
and brings upon us hours when we part.