Musings on a Sunday (Unfinished)

Musings on Sunday (Unfinished)

We often feel we must have something to say

We must have this profound wisdom

This answer

And we must have it now

Give it now

Know it now


Yet we really live in the midst of a vast universe



Never experienced


Still we think we know it all


We know nothing

Nothing at all


Our knowledge and our opinions are infinite

Yet they are a microscopic drop

An atom

A proton

A quark

In the midst of millions of galaxies


So who am I to judge my brother

Who am I to tell my sister she is wrong

Who are they to tell me who I am

Who I am not

None of us have the right to judge another

None of us hardly know ourselves

Much less what drives the heart beats of all the others


See, I live in the midst of great distractions

I can’t join one thought to another

Without an interruption in the mix

It’s a miracle these sentences come forth

These thoughts born right in the middle of chaos

Might simply be a picture of how life really is


I try to shut down the noise

But the noise is just too voluminous for me

Waves come crashing in from everywhere

Now my thoughts are lost in a sandy mix of dark frustration

Grating against my soul


Creating thousands of pearls


I put on the piano music

Listened through the earphones

So that I don’t pay back evil for evil

I consider the others

Even though there is no consideration for me

It’s the way I’ve always been

It’s the way I’ll always be


So here we are

Alone in the world again

I know life is meant to be lived with others

It’s not to be lived alone

But I can’t take all the delusions
I simply want to live in my home

Being what I am supposed to be


Where was I before all of this droning

Who was I before all the stoning

My broken bones and bruises might be healed

The memories still reside


I think I must make the journey inside

To see the one who walks the earth

The one who sees the heavens

The one who lives in the both and the and

The one who sees the purpose in the sand

The one who sees the emptiness of the time

And all its fullness thereof


I don’t think this will ever be finished


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