Sometimes, I Stop to Think..

Sometimes,

I stop to think,

What decks the mind

Of a bullet,

In its tour between the muzzle,

And the target..

Of a ripple,

In its swell between the epicenter,

And the apogee..

Of a stone,

In its projectile wave from my hand,

To the dimpled surface of water..

Of a torrent,

In its gravity trek from the tap,

To the thirsty pitcher..

Of a yellowed leaf,

In its sway from the glued spot on the branch,

To the crisp crushing of passersby..

Of the words,

Between their egress from my lips,

To the boundary less exterior..?

But,

Do they have a mind of their own?

Perhaps not..

And they don’t think,

And they don’t stop.

Sometimes,

I stop to think,

If it’s a good thing to not think,

Or perhaps not…

Sometimes,

I stop to……