Two swamps of thought stand silent,
Each living in a different plane:
One festers with mosquitoes,
The other polluted by a drain.
Each separate world of dormancy,
Is a plot for algae to expand;
The deadness of our selfish minds
Will make a graveyard of our plans.
If we remain two separate ponds
Our lives shall lie in poisoned waste,
For we weren’t meant to live alone
In ordered cells by walls encased.
This is stagnation.
Two streams of thought dance noisily
And run together in delight,
This causes a splashing, churning mess,
And sometimes a tumbling, rumbling fight;
But in the chaos there is life,
The jumble will unite our course;
We learn, we grow, and bloom with joy,
Our hearts are knitted here by force!
Where love provides the gravity,
Our hearts are pulled to this extreme:
Where two mentalities existed
There now remains a single stream.
This is conversation.
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