Of a lone wanderer is never settled,
Like the existentialism that cycles my headspace.
I let acoustic strings control my breathing
And focus on rippling waters,
Daydreaming about the faith I lost years ago.
When curious crawlers interact with me,
I think about the spectrum of power between us.
Evident contrast, innocence compared.
My omnipotence was light, however,
So I chose to not displace them.
Sometimes the wind will tickle my concentration
And remind me to move,
But it can’t seem to change my stagnancy.
Often I feel my fingers seeping into the green beneath,
Urging me for my company to remain.
Sometimes I overthink,
And even when clarity stares at my somber face in patience,
I put a paper bag over it.