With some ships to come sailing in it's by the wind in the sails that pushes it to land. Something that cannot be forced although gently nudged if to stick an oar in.
Like a bird on its perch with no sense for where to go or when to get there. Capable to spread its wings just no intention for doing so.
If not to be seen then how will know those frogs to kiss will become a prince. Need to stop hiding behind emotions that rather play by a tune for compassion.
Biting the bullet can also be as to jump the gun, enduring that suffering when needed not to. And all for that knife brought to a gun fight scenario.
What will feel like a long and lonely corridor, just realise that those left behind can still hear for those echoing footsteps. And where those others will be reached eventually will be thinking of whom are left behind.
In the forest; while all seems pleasantly calm in and around home, the outdoors, across plains. The atmosphere is held by a thread, knotted, yet can snag anytime. This sense of feeling is by what had been cut with a knife before. That atmosphere felt so thin, although repairable. It's anyone's guess when a thread is no longer strong.
In the stones; what may seem together actually has a wedge between where their thoughts are divided yet meet in the middle, as anyone knows if can talk the talk then must walk the walk still that object down the centre, love takes longer to think things through than it takes to be active but always decisive in an outcome.
St. Matthew Ch.3:V.9 " - And think not to say within yourselves, We have Abraham to our father: for I say unto you, that God is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham."
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