The superb continuum makes judgments.
There are fields of neglect,
and echoes of pain
throughout the ages,
in the future,
and even the present.
Over distances,
shortened by understanding
by compassion
by caring
for something,
for someone,
for ourselves.
Life itself is tired of being forgotten
in the midst of our daily slumber,
monotony trickles and hypnotizes
like the calm streams and tributaries
we no longer have a connection with.
Where do we go to make it right?
Who knows.
But there are those
who search for meaning
who hold up the beauty of life
in their quiet ways
who guard honour
and compassion
and respect
the way they should,
the way we all should.
After all, there's a little bit of that in all of us.
