The first third of a yet-untitled triptych that will (hopefully) be finished soon.
Again, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy it. 

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I. Trivial Pursuits.

"Nothing is more frustrating than an entire evening of Trivial Pursuit. Unless it is a whole day of trivial pursuit."  - John Ortberg

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I desire everything,

yet follow nothing.

Blinded by the pursuit of Something,

I come up empty-handed.

I look to the Great Scale

as it weighs the dust and the rubble

of my attempts,

and sigh,

as the arms of the Scale,

with no opposing weight, catapult

rock and dirt pitifully into space.

No shape,

no form.

Vapors, 

mere hints of an Existence,

of Life.

Dejected, I fall face down in the grass,

As what little substance remains visible

Proceeds to destroy itself,

effortlessly and silently imploding.

What is the Purpose?

For I see none.

I sense none.

I fear,

none. 

None.

After a time, 

I slowly raise my head

and rest my chin on my folded arms.

Blades of grass scratch at my cheeks.

One in particular hovers beside my temple.

I turn to face it,

as the cool wind 

pulls it every which way.

I yank it out of the earth

and, holding it between two fingers,

observe its texture,

its structure,

before releasing it.

It falls silently to the ground.

What a meaningless existence.

What an empty life.

For what purpose did it live?

Simply to grow?

To be the tallest?

The thickest?

The oldest?

To merely steal 

as much light 

and hoard

as much food

as possible?

It can't be.

It must not be so.

As rain began to fall

From shapeless clouds

I found myself under

A lone tree.

Dark mist and fat drops

Coated the plain.

This feeding frenzy,

It seems,

Has eaten the life

right out of me.

Such virulent proclivities,

Encased in paper-thin fallacies

Have all but brought me to my knees.

I desire Truth,

But all I sense is perjury.

Sensationalized,
Institutionalized,
Perjury of the highest order.

Rivulets of diluted tears
flow gently downstream,
as I watch the Overly Sensual

consume and destroy the individual,

not by choking out,

but worse, by turning in.

My eyes become I’s

Under the prevailing guise

That self-interest trumps empathy;

And thus, I am paralyzed.

As thunder rolls and wet leaves fall,
I drift slowly into sleep.

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