A molecule in the sea,
Is subject to the energy,
That rolls it up and around.
Without struggle without a sound.
Without a way to disagree.
Without the means to ever flea.
Subject to these greater forces.
It doesn’t know what its course is.
So what of this particle,
Bumping on the barnacles?
Without a scratch without a dent.
What does this thing represent?
Maybe it is something more.
Maybe it’s a metaphor.
Perhaps it is my attention,
That gives this thing a new dimension.
Perhaps it is the story,
That gives the molecule its glory.
Only in imagination,
Could there be such a creation.
It doesn’t know my silly tale.
How I hope that it prevails,
Over all its ghastly foes.
It is a star and doesn’t know.
But must it know that it’s a star?
That I am watching from afar?
Does it matter how I feel?
And what, that would reveal?
Does it really need a friend?
That it cannot comprehend?
That could pull it from the sea,
From what it was supposed to be?
I’m the maker of a tale.
What pray tell does that entail?
That I must assert dominion?
And enforce my opinion?
Sometimes a thought is just a thought.
And a good is not an ought.
I have made this metaphor.
But that is it, and nothing more.
How these thoughts do drift away.
Like a river to the bay.
I am mine, and mine alone.
As are you as I’ve been shown.
So as you pass I will thank thee,
For what it is you are to be.
And I will keep it within mine.
For yours is yours to define.
© 2022 TheRememberings Ltd.