Contemplating capitalizing 'we' in regards to society.

I find myself walking around my neighborhood more and more, usually in the night time. I almost always bring one of my journals to write in, but I still say my best ideas come to me when I physically cannot stop what I am doing to write. I got lost in a public park near where I grew up, I didn't really get lost, just lost in the moment. Here is what I wrote when I sat down on the stone steps leading out of the forrest wall from which I came.

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The sun bleeds lavish nectar,

The clouds above my head surge with improbability and wonder, for

held within them is the power that is life.

All around me earthen products whip about in lunar induced gusts of wind. I am earth, I am rain, I am light.

Every day we shuffle to and from the daily grind in hopeless repetition.

What is it that we forage for if not the mere experience of foraging?

Why do we do it to ourselves? Why does it all matter so much?

We are all equal as the dead under that bleeding red ball in the sky, in the end: what was it all for?

Experience is the only thing that lasts, knowledge is the only thing that remains. And even that is not permanent.

I am a simple man whose contemplation of the bigger picture leads to the realization that it challenges my very reasons for being in it. What purpose do I serve in this hive of hatred and doubt? Existence for the sake of existing is beyond the case I make because of the honorlessness

We now thrive in.

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