A Feeble Attempt at Poetry - "How Strange"

I should likely just call this "reflections" to avoid the high expectations often associated with poetry.

How Strange it is that whatever my gaze falls upon becomes the entire world.

My view is so often encased in four walls,
that when standing on a hilltop I catch a glimpse of natures wonders and,
I . . can . . . not . . process.

The longer I stare, the less static things become, but somehow
displaying more stability then I can humanly grasp.

Two shadowy mountains stand bold in the darkness, but only because the light is
. . . faint.
With no light at all the mountains would not exist in my sight.
They stand majestic over the glass water, that only hours ago lurched with anger.
How strange it is that the powerful ferry slides like a crown across the water now,
yet was rendered useless against a mere breathe of air!

Lights sprinkle the lower mountain, all with seemingly no purpose at all.
I assume that if I could see closer they are mostly of importance to somebody.
These lights fade at such a short distance, the same way my flashlight dissipates on a tree . . .

a mere stones throw away.

But despite light cloud cover, a few hundred stars shine without flickering,

and if JustThisHillIStandOn, and theTwoMountainsISee, and the CrevasseOfWaterInFrontOf me, and the PatchOfStarsAbove me, were the entire earth. . .

I

would

feel

small.

I imagine what it might be like to see the entire earth in all its'

glorious-detail-simultaneously,

I am no more.

We can be free from legalism and license, so truly free!

How strange it is to think that I have spent so much time worrying about