Gaze

Gazing.
Gazing
into the
night sky,
as billions
have done
before.
Looking into
infinity.
Contemplating
existence,
reality.
Realizing
all on this
mote we live,
confined.
Like a prison,
confined.
A prison of
thought.
Colloquial
in nature.
A prison
of reality.
Civilization
as is confined,
confined
by primitive
instincts.
Primitive
knowledge.
Knowledge
derived in
insignificance.
All that is
known dwarfed
by all that’s
not known.
Dwarfed
by everything,
everything
out there,
way out there.
Ensconced in
our cradle,
part of the
whole.
Yet, like
fish
in a bowl
knowing
not much of
anything!
Humbling
it be.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

This is brilliant thinking, which always powers the best writing. When you use the word "mote" . . . reading your poem went from being a cerebral experience to one of expansive mental imagery. I had a total mind flash on the earth as a prison, a lump of clay, surrounded by a mote of space . . . . your imagery expands like radiating circles going outward from the planet. Even tho this is not my total belief on the topic, when looking at things this way, one gets a fatalistic viewpoint toward whatever happens (in a good way, letting go, not giving up). Fondly, Margie

[John Prophet]

Thank you for reading my thoughts