Oh the toil of being.
Even as I pretend to exist,
I can feel the greater energy
Calling out my actions in the sun's light.
Outside my perception
One billion occurrences blossom
In mere moments of what one might call time.
No validation in the ebb and flow lifestyle of this social wasteland,
And no witless witnesses could ever prove
That we are actually happening.
Grasp for that narrow ledge to halt our plummeting
If we like, but the achievable extent
Of salvation has eluded us irreversibly.