I dream of leaving something permanent of myself
with a life that is too short
In this world that asks a lot of oneself
but how, I know not
I have the will, but vision is what I lack
I have the longing but talent, I have not.
What I have is the capacity for knowledge
If only I had not the knowledge
At least I can have the peace of ignorant bliss.
My thoughts demand of me greatness
A greatness I cannot achieve
Since I cannot conceive
that which is required to produce greatness (creativity)
A mind that is like a sponge
Has absorbed evolution
A mind that cannot create
Has rejected creation.
By doing so, a mind that knows that there is no purpose of life
Is still suffering without a purpose in life.
There is no going back, however
to the bliss of creation, heaven and afterlife
For the mind that has known, cannot go back
But can only persevere
To leave something of itself in this world
While Nature, with her cruel efficiency goes on
With her fiery creativity on a larger and grander scale
With no "knowledge" of the speck that is my mind.
Between hope and fear
on a silken thread
from cantilever window
to the window-frame
I build security
without a doubt.
I’m a spider.
Thank you Chris, lovely response.