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Paper People

Life is just a perpetual cycle,

where I meet death’s tail and follow.

We paper people think sick and idle

but our minds remain vain and hollow.

I like this poem. Not because I wrote it, but because it's kind of true. We are paper people. Two dimensional. We have no depth; we don't wonder about what's beyond the stars. We don't marvel at our ability to think. We don't even marvel at beauty. We just think about ourselves, and maybe every once in a while we'll see things from a different perspective, but mainly we're looking through our own eyes. We see, hear, feel,  and think what we see, hear, feel, and think. Not what others see, hear, feel, and think.

Life is just a cycle where one paper person is born after another. Maybe every once in a while a great mind is born, like Einstein or Galileo or Darwin, but mainly it is just people who can only see through one set of eyes. People who can only think in small doses, or not at all. People who don't wonder, or marvel. They are too wrapped up in their own drama, or every body else's drama. They don't think beyond Earth. They don't think Earth. They think: "me."

It frustrates me that no one else sees this. It frustrates me that when I try to explain what I'm seeing, nobody understands. They just can't grasp the fact that life is more than just themselves. I hate it. This is a paper town full of paper people who only think in this paper town. I wish a huge gust of wind would come along and blow them away. Or I wish God knew origami. Then he could fold these people and make them into swans. Three dimensional swans, instead of two dimensional ugly-ducklings.

We need another great mind.

This world is beginning to fold in on itself,

and I don't think the universe can hold

the dead weight of a paper ball.