Lines

It was raining when it stopped me

that feeling one gets
when they know they had crossed a line-

and some lines are not so forgiving.

You see,
lines
are drawn for two reasons:

to create
or to define
(which really are one of the same,
but seen as different approaches.)

When creating,
possibilities are infinite.

From nothing there is something
from blank space there are filled
shadows, poignant angles, subtle curves...

A form
a feeling
a moment
all stem from the growing vines
of our creating mind's line.

When defining,
it's all about boundaries.

This is this
this is not that.
This is not meant to be shared
with that.
Words
thoughts
people
places
are all protected by the fences
of a drawn, defined line.

Lines are not perfect
They have holes
some bigger than others
depending on the invitation
and the fragility of the information behind.

It was raining
when it stopped me,
because I knew then I had crossed
that unperforated line.

My vines grew up and over
they became entangled in your tendrils
against their better judgement
they budded on the other side.

The other side of
that crossed line
has been known for
creating
unfinished forms
collecting
protected contents
and conquering
both many words and definitions.

The other side
that I succumbed,
transcending me
I fear
may be a line that
divides.

How the meaning and figures
between my vines and your lines
will be drawn is unknown territory-
for both sides now.

It's just that feeling,
which stopped me
from drawing,
is one I knew
there was no turning away from
no controlling-
Because that feeling
that precipice
transforms my lines
into budding rapturous forms that fly.