Suppose, if you will,
that three worlds intersect,
so that greens and blues diverge
at a tiny, nonexistent dot.
Now put a rock upon that point,
and then atop it some fine day,
place an even smaller speck,
whom we'll call No One Insignificant.
No One lives in Singularity,
which at once is and isn't ―
a paradoxical limbo
of existential gestalt.
What, when and where is to be,
which surely begs the question:
If one is somewhere and nowhere,
does one be, or does one not?
If my feet tread the ground,
it does not seem to notice.
Though I cry out to the heavens,
the sky does not know my voice.
I look down at the water,
and there is only my reflection,
who knows nothing of my loneliness,
for every tear disappears.
I am intangible, infinitesimal,
inconsequential, invisible.
In the absence of a witness,
how can I prove I live at all?
Nature tells us through science
that we are all largely nothing -
that the bits which compose us
are never truly anywhere.
How can we rightly conclude
that we are nothing like No One?
Perhaps we should wonder
if we touch what we touch.
Earth, air, and water
diverge at a rock.
No One has the answer.
How incredibly ironic:
A mournful song fills the breeze,
and storm clouds gather to listen.
Tiny beings taste sorrow's salt
as shock waves rend their world asunder.
Singularity keeps the solitude
of No One Insignificant.
A grassy meadow greets a footfall,
and the Earth moves just slightly.
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
I'm never truly alone. I have my Self to entertain...well, myself. 
Hmmm. What other stuff can I offer ya. Ummm.
