When I Think About

When I Think About This world my life those lives of every living thing, I sometimes disdain those commas and mostly those periods. Something being so final in their brief little dot endings, I mean why should I stop when my mind keeps running on? It doesn't pay one damn bit of attention to silly rules, Flying free within a skull with actually very little room. So does this mean that paradise might truly be small also? Now I don't mind tolerating question marks so much. For me personally they've always opened up new thoughts, Creating fresh flashes of contemplation never dreamed of. Only difference between every living thing is quite nothing, All struggling to survive just long enough to die quickly. Those explanations always seeming to be there in poems, Yet they always never appear in any to make their points! So profound these tiny creatures that words laugh at, I've lately looked at them as periods with an ********. Excitement pointed out at the end of just so many words, Now that is classic expression in a critic's show and tell.  Why can't quotes dance around superlative poetic thoughts? Just explanation points with hands up in two flying fingers. Funny how two of these can express such visions of peace, While just one by itself may well possibly start a war. Or at least maybe a smaller one between commuting workers, Raging at those delays that block highways to salt mines. You may ask if this poet's brain travels many directions, All at once and at the same time on more than one track? Yes and the beauty of it is I can and change without injury, Derailed only by a ringing phone or a knock on my door. Copyright 2019 Robert William Gruhn A.R.R.