This is perhaps a futile attempt, but certainly isn’t deprived
of a sense of nobility.
This is an expression of the consternation at the epiphany that
the lessons learnt through one’s life are for them, and them alone.
This is a dirge for a world that is solely one's own.
This is an embrace with strife.
This is the extent of significance in absolutes.
This is the best a mind balanced on a pin point can rhyme.
This is the joy he feels by knowing he doesn’t have to
rhyme.
This is the realization that his every thought has already tied
a knot.
This is a submission that his home after the years, he knows
not.
This is his terror that the tree will fall without the root.
This is the nostalgic reassurance that the roots are his to
boot.
This is the comfort in knowing that meaning is self-defined
This is a dismissal of his thoughts, his mood and his mind.
This is meaningless.
This is bliss.
