5/23/11

Each person has a little bubble which they float inside,

And know the world as it exists for them as seen within.

This bubble holds their lives and loves, their passions and their pride,

And all belief in what they see is filtered through its skin.

But often in adversity, their bubbles turn opaque,

When they are shaken up just like a child’s Christmas toy.

Now blind to others, their fine bubbles swerve, collide, and break,

And in this moment, each of our illusions is destroyed.

5/22/11

When something is no longer made, it is forever lost,

The methods of its fabrication been consumed by time.

Once vanished from humanity, its wake brings mournful cost,

As knowledge of its making is eroded from our minds.

Much like a deep amnesia or confusion forms with age,

The memories are lessened.  Details slowly fall from view.

Our common history, forgotten, faded, worn away, 

And all the lives employing these lost things will vanish too.

Each time an object once engaged and loved is tossed aside,

We have discarded nothing less than pieces of ourselves.

And thus, we must be wary of our progress and our pride,

Lest who we are is so undone, we disappear as well.