To where do I traverse my verse of sentiment.
Sediment set in said increment
played upon the ears of a child,
wild upon the planes of plain immortals,
powerless gods, and ill-statured titans.
Widen my view to see nothing,
or, perhaps, nothing noteworthy.   
Divorce my discourse with abandon
meant for one that cares.
Stare into the bare soul of half-eaten fruit.
A point as moot as I am mute.