Vision

where there is no vision, the people perish.

vision

I feel no vision.

it feels unwell.

how do I know?

nothing feels exciting.

almost nothing.

I know life ends

surviving is not a worthy vision.

I know opinions and fame are fickle

approval is not a vision.

I know all goods perish

wealth is not a vision.

I know experiences are all temporary

newness is not a vision.

I see how romance is a thumb-twiddling war of approval and power

romance is an illusion.

I see how desires ultimately only find clay and ash

satisfaction is not a vision.

I know all achievement is ephemeral

success is not a vision.

and I feel empty

futile

unwilling to lift a finger

beyond what my body demands I do to keep going

to avoid lack or pain.

I know the futility of survival

and yet I cling to it

the hubristic hypocrite

who keeps clinging to the edge of the pool,

and who claims to know the nature of the ocean.

what, then? eschew survival?

walk into material thin air?

discard the habits and cushions of civilization

and commit social suicide?

not yet, I feel.

The inconsistency of these thoughts is not important.

My shame of knowledge and fear together does not matter.

temporary mental clay,

soon to blow and wash away

if I but let them be.

then I let them be

and let me judge myself a fool

if so mind wishes

perhaps it can strangle its own

self-importance.