Work In Progress

Open Letter to Overthinking

I can hear the symphonies of simplistically happy insects following their nature without contemplating the righteousness of tirelessly supplying us with gentle music.
They don't congregate in unions protesting the apathetic dismissal of our ungratefully sealed doors and windowsills.
They do not with no further reason than they simply can not comprehend the ignorance we project upon their millenniums of perfecting a single song.
I can simply close my eyes standing in the middle a midnight dusk and hear the everlasting concert play on, regardless of the incomprehensible difference between my eyelashes fluttering shut and remaining focused on the distant horizon.
I can linger here tracing my fingers along each dew laced shoot of grass, giving my full and undivided attention to appreciating the travel of the water to be be present there, in that time and moment.
I would not be distracted by the relentless reminding alarm striking my mind of the responsibilities I must uphold beyond this moor.
I can be genuinely still and silent and live that snapshot without any ringing in my ears or smokescreens clouding my vision of what tomorrow must inevitably cradle in her arms.