False Vacuum
My microcosmos is really a false vacuum.
It may eventually collapse.
I read an article floating in the wind.
I become an unwritten novel.
I watch the ants carry the breadcrumbs
into the dismal soil leading into another world.
I look outside seeing pockets of pain.
I yearn to jettison out of my world on a jet.
A long voyage around the liquid abyss from
which silent screams emanate.
The light dims outside and I wait
for deliverance from Epic Error.
All may eventually collapse into scurrilous beliefs
created by scoundrels.
Am I greater than the sum of my fragments?
I'm too exhausted to answer this.
Persistence is futile.
The King of Pain is omnipresent.
Copyright © njv Tomcatx | Year Posted 2022
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