Becoming

You know, " to love " is so easy to say. 
So difficult to accomplish.
Has hecho frágiles los muros de roca ancestral.

There is no more poetry written as you surrender to the constant ever flowing whatever that is it meant to be.

Too conceptual. Abstract was lost in technology, as we could be becoming dots and lines never spoken. Never said. 

Always there. Scavenging for a strip that'll hold the Earth. Ours.

We were probably falling stars that stayed too attached to their small pieces igniting in the atmosphere. Born in the unseen Universe. Galaxy.

However that void is called nowadays.