Inside the Red Fort at Agra, India
A good place for reflecting.
The End of Me
Arms folded,
wrinkled chin,
I watch the world
bump and spin.
If only they'd listen . . .
except they don't.
They won't.
Smug, safe
in a careful paradigm,
I tune out opinions
that threaten mine.
In an echo chamber
my of my own ideas
I beam
when I'm validated.
Could it be
I've begun
to worship myself?
. . . . . .
Maybe the end of me
is the beginning of us?