weorð

weird is worth it

A Zero Intellect

I swear there’s just too much noise in my head.

I reviled it.  In return, it beguiles me.

How can a human brain worry about so many things,

think about so many things, all at once?

So many thoughts that couldn’t find their way

to grow into words, powerful, life-changing words.

I don’t get it. Why does an idea, big in its primordial state,

have to be so small and simple in order to be great?

Or why in the million years the human race has survived does an idea

have to resurrect change?

Something fair, middling becomes good.

Good suffices us not, becomes better, best, great.

After great, adjectives spawned, there’s awesome, brilliant,

fantastic, magnificent, fantabulous,

and it all somehow find its footing

to absurd, unnerving, ludicrous.

If it were contentment the sheath where spears rest

will we stay still, stay put and live?

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