An insomniac night's dream
or a nightmare unwilling to leave
A lunatic trying to survive the mind
or a seer filling-in solitude and time
Not vying for respect
nor claiming a tinge of need
The kind that is reserved
for a scientist or a farmer toiling away in fields
Perhaps a sheer anomaly
striving to find place and utility
In the ways of the world
designed around necessities
Bringing a chuckle to cheeks unsuspecting
Or even a meaning, hitherto missing,
emerging on third or fourth reading,
coy and disconcerted.
Just the way the evolution proffered no choice
to the contented blue-green algae
floating away carefree on the virgin planet
Pushing through hooves and hurdles countless
an ordeal spanning millennia ere counting
Trading brine for the brain
A barter made sans choice or consent
To become the beings still 'at sea'
Lamenting the lost brine, their first home
in the bottomless cosmic void
Just the same it is
with poets and poetry
Pushing through words, verses
days on end, clueless
One evolving through other unknowing
Not out of need or choice
but to make yet another attempt
at making sense
of the absurdity of life
(whilst dead inside)
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