Inside Insight

by Silas

I pine not For grass or trees. This pane of glass Looks fine to me. Ever present Is every present Presented as the moments pass. Where last is first And first to class. First to thirst For half-full glass. Fully free To see worry As irrational Impossibility. For the soul you hold Can be sold for gold; You otherwise can't lose control. Might lose a limb. Might lose a friend. Might loss matter When your matters end?