Poetry

When you look at the sky
Where does this 'I' stop?
Does the penny drop?

When you turn your finger back on yourself and say
"Look at who's doing this pointing"
It can be downright disappointing
To not see a king.
For all you can see is nothing.

"What is the point?" I ask myself
But the point is not got by asking what
The point is the edge of being
And it's got when I start simply seeing

Now I look at myself and I'm not really here to see
It's really strange that this 'me'
Though such an insignificant bit of immensity
Has such a propensity
For feeling all things revolve
Round its intense sense of self importance

And yet it's true
Where this universe begins
I AM !!!

Peter Scott