*** *** How often We become bound To the very thing That has simultaneously Healed us, broken us, Found us, lost us, Completed us, and forgotten us, I, perhaps, Have been swimming In my my mind, too much, As of late, And I should be wary Of where my thoughts Can take me, But weariness I find If I don't swim, A cloud hangs over me, Not one of darkness Nor one of pain, It is a cloud made Of the nature of all things, The universe And us, We are a hasty people, We design our formula, Make our predictions And more often than not The consequences Of those predictions Are a side note To be studied later, Too late, too often, Sometimes, I think We are a lifesize Game of risk, Rolling the dice, Claiming territory And proclaiming it As ours own, The universe is young In comparison to The answers We have yet to ask The right questions for, Sometimes, I can't help but think That the universe is an infant And she created us For her entertainment, I serve her well, We serve her well, None the wiser. @d_bailey_ #d_bailey_ (at Townsville, Queensland) https://www.instagram.com/p/BpB8OkVhMaX/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=w6qemwgl9r8f
