The Beauty of the Bubble


Being stuck in a bubble for so long,
Floating across the blowing breeze,
Seeing more than a human sees,
When on foot he wanders and ponders
What it is he is truly seeing before his curious eyes
Full of wonder and questions.
Floating in this bubble,
Higher than some might be as they freely roam,
They cannot see this greener grass from above
Since they are fixed, their eyes glued to one sight;
For that which cannot be appreciated
Is that which you cannot take your eyes off of
And only wonder at it without knowledge
Of what beauties lie outside of it.
Just so, I am in this bubble.
Floating above all the fighting men,
Screaming at each other their foolish opinions.
The foolish opinion is the one not carefully considered
And the one that goes unexamined.
But I examine, though trapped in a bubble, still I see
More beauty than those who feel they roam free,
Looking at the negativity of this entrapped state.
For I see beautiful trees, and the self reflection
That many men care not to even busy their minds with,
I use as advantage for my positive dispositions.
I, though trapped in this bubble, am freer than they.

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