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Kenn Wood Poem
Birds,
effortlessly flying around the Earth.
Water simply flows.
My hands, typing, happens as naturally as rain.
The whole universe,
us being little specks,
from such a big perspective, we don't matter.
To live is an idea.
An idea created when no one knew what life was.
But to be living and to be alive.
Very different.
Being just a speck in the universe,
it's not pessimistic of me to say we don't matter on a larger scale.
Saying what needs to be said, that's just the truth.
The stars in the sky twinkle but no one can see them anymore.
The pollution, fills the sky, the sky that I believe would be very beautiful.
Us being little specks in the world,
Why would it matter what I say?
Why would the words I type have an importance?
What we do in life is pretty much irrelevant.
What are we doing here?
And yet,
The birds would still fly,
the ants would still climb the hills,
the strums of my guitar would still stay the same.
Just being little specks,
the universe doesn't care about us.
From a historic point of view,
the universe is what wiped out the dinosaurs.
The Earth still turned on its axis,
Star Wars would still be made millions of years later.
And I would still be here,
writing about how nothing really matters.
Copyright © Kenn Wood | Year Posted 2021
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Details |
Kenn Wood Poem
When you write you can get your thoughts out
but if it's something that hurts you and no one sees,
what's the point in writing it?
The world is full of hurt, why make it worse?
Keep your thoughts to yourself.
Don't allow someone to hurt you.
Don't contaminate the pages with your nonsense.
The only way to be truly happy
is when you're at peace.
What if my peace is death?
What if I don't have a purpose?
Maybe,
just maybe,
I do have one.
I just lost it.
well,
my brain lost it.
Copyright © Kenn Wood | Year Posted 2021
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