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Personal Note:
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Poem
As I approach the staunch realization that we are the poisonous creatures
Plaguing the very mother that nurtures our brittle and deplorable existence
We cross our arms seeking the unexplained comfort we think we know
Leaning back in the chair that coddles us with the rock and roll of its runners
A reflection is formed of the way that this one used to view right and wrong
I have spent my life surrounded by the clear shadows of enlightenment 
At least the wind who selfishly hid from sight gave itself away through feel
The hindrances to get to where I am now have shown themselves to me
They've shown themselves to me the split second I discontinued my search
This moment interweaves itself with the loss of my instinctive will to live
The pickle next to me is from across the country who lived a far different life
But here we are stripped of our individuality all labeled together as one jar
Not a beautiful cucumber from Northern Virginia, I'm now a jar of pickles
I had to accept this in order to fully understand just what it was I unearthed
The saline solution in which I now reside is the very reminder of my ignorance
Once a formidable adversary in the witch hunt to expose frailty in the folly
A frailty that can't hide the tips of its toes from the outskirts of my peripherals  
A shadow at the tale end of merging with another that is far, far superior
And is gobbled up so quick, that one questions if the lesser was ever there
The world does not revolve around where this jar travels on the spinning earth
The earth is just the place where the stage is set for this jar to move around
If I (we) drop and the glass casing providing our temporary safety fragments
It is of no consequence, for I've lost my demand for your time and patience
They're yours to keep, forgiveness is asked for wanting them in the first place
Enlightenment is the realization that we are stick figures traced on thin paper
And we just refuse to address the giant pair of scissors that follows us around
We laugh to ourselves and say “you can't cut a stick figure out from the paper”
My narrow recognition is as attenuated as the gaunt paper that I'm drawn on 

I watch in horror 
As the precision of the clippers removes me from all attachments

I'm obsolete 
As I feather my way to the ground, subdued by the shackles of gravity

As I (we) hit the ground the glass shatters, pickles everywhere
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