The Bridge

Our first thoughts assuredly revolve around flaring desires we seek to solve. Thus from infancy we frame the day finding meanings grown then withered away. All our friends and foes agree - there's some meaning in some of the things we see. But stray not from that vague observation; much danger lies in further exploration. Madness the path that sees all things significant each breath exquisite as each corpse magnificent. Each random chance as destiny's word - Each happenstance as life's lovely chord. Admire the sparrow, behold the blowing leaf, and all shall say the wind stole your mind like a thief. Yet take care to stray not too far down the path where you struggle to find any reason to laugh. Don't dare wonder if meaning might fail, if all will subside to the dark and the pale. If life and thought and dreams and song are soap bubbles of chaos - neither good nor wrong. Scolded are those who peer off the jumbled bridge where people fumble for meaning - but only a smidge.