A Speck Upon a Mote
It’s sad to see a foreclosed soul
Stacked in white sheets rising
Or elephants that die a “noble death”
To hear the passing sirens
That dare disturb our sleep
Give us pause to wonder
Whose last breath.
The plot we’re given
Slow or fast unravels
Lunatics in fringe worn clothes
Dance on as mortals weep
Laughing Gods amidst
Their armchair travels
Touch yet another button
As we sleep
What is life but wondering,
A speck upon a mote
In the eerie still of silence
A solitary note.
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