Blank Space

And all the leaves that fall upon the floor

don’t think their passing is for you and I.

In their dying throes, they not once let roar

that they depart to break apart the sky.

And all the minnows that swim into one

salmon or another, they do not care

whether we are fulfilled with what we’ve done

or ashamed of our causing of despair.

The moth will still stroll right into the light.

The lemmings will still leap into the sea.

The sun will still go down to let the night

devour the earth with obfuscating glee.

The laws that drive the world are driving still.

Who are we to assume it’s someone’s will?