When everything is mediocre
And you search for meaning
In something devoid and dead
You look askance for reason
In every conceivable direction
Except the right or left
By way of traditional wisdom
You look in every conceiveable direction
But it’s not there.
You’re not really searching anywhere
Except going mad in a mindless loop
Thinking that existence of purpose
Lives outside you
When indeed truly, it could but
Isn’t there possibility and good
Inside to behold
And truly a number of meaning would unfold
But you’re afraid and irked, aren’t you
This day by night flying, doesn’t suit you.


Author: gerbilette

Write, edit, be. Write, love, poetry.

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