It’s all in one’s perspective, stirred or calm,
No absolute to clear attempt define,
Are we the epicenter of our realm,
Or mere iotas in the breadth of time?
In awe of spacious skies and hues sublime,
Yet conscious that we’re specks of vast unknown,
The midst of nowhere or mere changing clime,
The macro view or long term fears intone.
The “nowhere” oxymoron’s just a moan,
The midst of which confounds the logic mind,
For “nowhere” must indeed be “somewhere” shown,
Infinity can never be confined.
I ponder long, with battl’ing sides of brain,
But choose to simply watch impending rain.
Photo Friday: The Middle of Nowhere