Consider an upright pavement covered in tears
Engulfed in several drops of liquid that's clear
They trickle downwards through gravity
Can get stuck in cracks
Or go faster through humidity
No matter how fast or slow
They all have one place to go
To the end
Where the body of water flows
As they trickle down
A single drop can manifest another in its path
If it gets too immense it's divided in two
Who travel a different route until another act of math
However,
There's always the drips of liquid
Not too small not too big
Who stay in one place
And are missed by the other drop's trace
But on these shower walls
Oxygen laced with hydrogen continues to fall
There's no room for isolation
For every square inch
Is covered in beads of liquid
Surrounding me with the four corners
I scratch the tiles to my left
Four lines with the tips of my fingers
Leaving to my right,
I do the same and turn back left to see what lingers
There was no trace of me
Because the flow of activity
So possibly
If we continue to surround ourselves in energy
Like the drops of animation
There would be no room for manipulation
Only room for movement, growth, and separation
If I could be God for just a night
I'd change the globe to this pavement that's upright
And every drop of you would be alright
I got the idea of this poem from sitting in my bath tub in the shower