Monday, May 19, 2003

"The Machine"
by Michael Sherrillo

A child’s suffering matters not,
Pain is in and around us all.
Our lives, our sorrows,
So many bugs on times windshield.

Can you we really appreciate
The height of a mountain, without
Standing at its base in awe.
A gentle love will have more worth,
Having followed so much hate.
A man without arms will embrace,
His children even tighter with his heart.

Perspectives change.
Can I appreciate being tall,
Unless I was first short?
Life is not a plateau.
Life is a series of hills and valleys,
The depth of one accentuates
Another’s loftiness.
Anything can be done, felt,
But it has no meaning, it cannot be known,
Understood, realized, appreciated,
Without its opposite.

Believe you matter,
Think you have meaning.
For all your love and hope,
Means nothing alone,
And combined, every father,
Every child, all their loss and love and culture...
Are just so many bugs on the windshield.

I didn't, I actually answered it. There is no reason for the world to exist, and there is also no reason for it not to... it simply does. Existence IS a choice of perception, just like time. If you step away from time, it can pass instantaneously, and you will cease to exist; all that needs be done is change your perspective. And by having or not a choice, I only mean that generally your biological instinct to survive, coupled with humanities fear of the truly unknown, overrides any desire to do otherwise. So no matter your cognitive/emotional wish, it is very difficult to not exist.

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