There are tiny little specks of a great Soul,
Scattered and spread in a maze going nowhere,
Seemingly going somewhere…
They feverishly go about their business – going nowhere.
As if in a glass enclosure milling about,
Moving from one place to another,
Passing each other by,
Encircled in a world of illusion – going nowhere.
Monumental tombstones surround the maze,
The vessels of interior chaos where countless particles of souls,
Mill about, never really asking why?
Just milling about in repetitive loops,
Never really asking:
July 20th, 2015
One comment on “Why?”
So true. Were drowning our spirit more and more with the world of sensation that any thoughtful inquiry into the nature of our existence is perceived with fear and apprehension.