Life blooms forth from busy lips

Aching, straining to release

Longing to realise the reason for which we are created

But who is to say, when all is said and done

No one knows, yet we guess anyway

We believe, we cling to hopes, to ideas

We’re all lost and in denial, but we’re alive


This is what matters, open lips

Well chosen words, hurried promises

Desires uttered at a whim or after decades of thought

Blurted out, splashing and cascading from each beautiful, bloodied opening

When all is said and done, when all is dried, dead and gone

Who is there to judge and who is there to define?

Who is there to determine the merits of a life?


And all it takes is open legs and an open mind

A backstreet fling, a decade of longing

A mechanical consummation or a passionate affair

Three quarters of a year and life flows forth

One more life, one more mouth, another pair of lips

With hopes, with dreams, without a clue

Another name, another boy to fall apart at her feet

Another girl to sob to sleep after his cruel words

And yet the world keeps turning

It always keeps turning, oblivious to the feuds and fashions of human lives

The world keeps turning

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