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What Little I Have
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Poem for Every Night Woe is me
lost in the waves of translucent thought, like the sea,
destroyed by the callous nature of infinity,
slowly twisted in it.
Woe am I
to be foolish enough to think that the world stops for a passerby,
that a moment is as lasting as the focus in my eye,
it only lasts for a moment.
Who am I
but a measly speck of clay simply raked
to cultivate such uninformed ideas
that subjugate my innate value,
I have little.
What little I have
I have it as strong as an oak
with the potential to crush and invoke
rambunctious and necessary ideology,
I need more.
