To the Grander Things in Life


I try

to smell those roses 


large and small


apparent and hidden


against those who whine to march onwards

towards Babel's tower









And the truth is

after I smell

I will 


follow them


up towards that tower

towards accomplishment and ambition and drive and 'success'


sure the flowers are nice

but I can't stay there forever

nor do I want to 


would the flowers lose their luster?

are flowers the only joy in my life?


I'm not sure yet. 

And I'm not sure if I'll ever be. 

I'm just unsure.


And in a way being unsure makes life

a little bit more mysterious

a bit more interesting


it's true colors will never appear for me

but I'm not blind to the limited flashes I do see.


In my limitations there is beauty. 

In the coverage of black...

are the strokes of right...

and that makes life awesome.


This poem is about: 


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