The night is here.
But in some way we are not.
It's almost as if sometimes,
Just sometimes,
We begin to feel as though maybe we aren't viewing the same stars,
That they are too infinite.
And though thy are in thought,
You still avoid the thoughts,
Of how small you are in this vast
universe.
That maybe you and I are not seeing
the same stars.
That perspective is all and everything.
That no that beautiful blue star you
see,
So brightly among the millions of others,
Only seems to catch my eye for a moment.
A fleeting glimpse of what would be,
Could be,
Can be,
Won't be.
Yet still dreamers dream,
Thinkers think,
And sleepers sleep.
Because all in all,
Not everything will have some deeper meaning,
Some great devotion,
Some unknown message that is screaming itself from the rooftops
and mountains.
That maybe a poem is just that,
A string of words with seemingly poetic rhythm.
So as time continues moving,
And 3D creatures in a 4D world continue breathing.
May we all continue counting stars that are in the past.
And continue breathing the air that's been with us for centuries.
And continue writing meaningful poetry.
Wrote this really late at night. The corona virus has been letting me sleep in so I lay awake most nights and figured I should post this.