Words are like you and me, they all have meaning.

In its mind swirled,
the sky, the soil,
the sun, the sand.
They swirled and twirled,
into the black cosmos of its own making.

What was it? You would never know,
It held all, made all.
It contained all.

Colors of yellow, green,
brown - white,
blue and black.
From shallow withins and deeps without.

It brought all, mixed all.
It created all.

Feelings of joy, sorrow,
pain and gain.
Sensations both hard and smooth; soft and rough;
"IT" was in the making,
A black-hole of promise,
In an universe of emptiness.

- Poem that randomly appeared during Story-telling assignment, tried to think of the abstract, still ended up with the real, sounds nice when read aloud, well officially my first poem at design school -