A Fly’s Chance

If a spider cracked a snail’s shell,
say,

in an attempt to vanquish his 

protected neighbor, with a rock,

would you feel sad?
The world struggles and consumes, like

you twist and turn under the weight 

of the day.

The bills, the outflow,

the boredom with it all,

It seems like an insult to know so much, only to 

waste it all on some dull idea of breathing.
And you won’t get far, because knowing what you know,

there is nowhere to go. The world is a cosmic 

joke,

try to go all the way to the end of the planet

as far as legs can,

and you end up where you started.
And this is the life that starts over everyday. Some beg for it,

some let it pass by,

some beg for it, feeling it leave them like a lover that’s changed their mind.

It’s all the same song,

longing,

positive,

deafening.

It’s a death chant for a rebirth,

the pipe organ bellowing for the dead while a choir of youth

fills the air with voice. 
Is the day an ally or a foe? Is the day the 

spider,

or is it the snail with the 

cracked shell?