existential thought
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I read a poem to my dad.
He said he didn't understand.
And it was too long.
I didn't understand that.
He doesn't know big words.
He asks me the meaning.
Of that one word.
I know the word.
Riding in trees,
Falling off treatise,
Gendering yearning souls,
Trying the caste of cells,
Postering high miracles,
I don't know...
I can't shake the preening feeling...
That I'm not really living...
And even though it's not a physical pain-
It's a dull persisting ache-
And even though no one else is living
