The Point

Slogging across dewy fields of tall grass she faltered 
searching through mossy swamps
she got lost in the depths
of her own thoughts

She pierced herself on her own pointed arrow
that she spent a good amount of her life staring at and sharpening
with her mind

And she perished this way

And the world kept turning
and the grass continued to grow high
and confuse those who wandered through it

This angered her
how could she not be the key to the grass and the swamp and the arrow
how could she spend her life dedicated to slogging through these fields
and sharpening this arrow
when its point only directed her own path in the end

She was not the solution, she was only her solution
and this sorrowed her

She was missing something big
she had searched for that something big
until she perished and never found it
all the while not seeing that
all she had to do was……

look up.

The grass isn’t meant to be sorted through…its meant to grow
There is no secret in the swamp
The arrow is not the way.

You are part of the path only if you look up
and see that you are not the only one walking it

look to the stars to see this
look to link souls with other beings to learn this
until you learn this
stop sharpening your arrow
and look up.

the goal is not to have one

dreaming without sleeping 
faltering she fell
and yet she flew
and landed on a single petal

wind through her hair found
blinders for her eyes
and still she saw waves of madness
through the moonlight

the silence wasn’t really there
but she heard it
with words on the tip of her tongue
never spoken

breeze high
crouch low
see far
and hear nothing