Creation has a set,
A pattern unbeknownst to us,
Difficult to put into words,
At a glance.
Either simple love,
Or vanity,
Hate,
Or untouchable fear,
It all resides in our minds.
Like a canvas filled,
With smells and colors,
Our wants,
Our desires,
Once sitting.
Flow on paper,
Like down pouring rain,
Soon every inch of our environment is occupied,
Our glass is full.
We are indeed content,
But only for a moment.
The rippling effects of creation
Only bring upon us,
More and more rain.
It is all unending,
Infinite,
The more the hourglass dust trickles down,
The more our mind flourishes,
Making us think,
Guess,
My friend,
Take a gander,
At what is to come.
Is there more after?
Everything has already been created,
So,
What is our role?
In this small speckle of dust,
Floating on the universe.
Is our job to look for more?
Or to accept what already exists around us.
As the status quo.
We are made aware of our existence,
To know that the end is nigh,
And there is no detour...
If that is so,
Be sure to plant trees along the way,
Leave gifts to those who follow soon behind,
So, they may breathe in creation.
As we walk in unison across the galaxy.
YOU ARE READING
Abroad
PoesiaThe purpose of this poetry book is one of defiance. Not to others, or anything in particular. It is against the war we wage internally, against ourselves every day. There is no bigger challenge in life than facing your thoughts, your true emotions...
