What are you doing?

 
 
This is all bollocks isn’t it?
All crap and bullshit.
I mean, you’re not telling me you take it seriously?

Do you?

The mortgage and the bank balance,
The terribly so dinner parties,
The right sort of suit.
The right badge of car.

Really?

This is your life?

Or are you perhaps more earthy?
Your domain is nuts and bolts and things that work,
For other people.

Earn a wage,
Don’t make money.

More honour in that perhaps.

Yet still…
As those sparkling stars turn slowly overhead,
And small birds sing their small part
On quiet, still misty mornings,
And all creatures wake and do their thing
So naturally,
Is your contrived vision really worth their beauty?

What are you doing? And why?
I don’t think you know,
And if you did, you’d surely cry
If you had any awareness of the place of your soul
In the many dimensional universe
That you think you know.
 
 

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