An elderly’s senility,
Resembles our ability,
To make sense of our own emotions.
Looks like a bucket is all we get.
And life is miraculous,
Our feelings spectacular,
When its filled in entirety with one emotion-
With our selves led to believe
That it is the one sole power
Purest of all,
We readily give ourselves up,
And let this power consume us.
Only before our volatility hits again,
With its strength of a storm.
Getting current emotions to flow out
Making room for the new ones
Sometimes leaving an immense void,
Mighty enough to swallow our being.
And to think of it,
Our powerless minds do see it all
Keeping paralyzed even more than our crippled hearts.
Maybe we are just as hollow as that bucket
Defined differently every moment
by the wind of our volatile emotions.