I am an overzealous ant marching forward towards the winds that block any rewards.
Perhaps it is better that, like a gnat I can’t fathom how miniscule I am, because contemplating my own insignificance would paralyze me, and in indecisiveness I would succumb to a predator’s predilections.
Sorry sweety that crap was the last gasp of an exhausted brain. Blood pan waiting to expand as useless feces falls freely from the top that is ready to drop and stop thinking.
Poetry attempting to discover ourselves minus the lies imposed upon us by others and ourselves is quite difficult,
because we can’t always be as grand as the deep blue sea or swirling space clouds that pirouette in that cosmic mess we call infinity.