But there are people who can see a poem inside a word, an ocean within a raindrop and the entire universe in one act of kindness. Are these the people, Marcus, who drag our world, kicking and screaming, forward?
There are also those who see the poem as only the beginning of a sentence, the ocean as the benign crucible of intelligent life and the universe as a mere prop in the drama of the eternal soul.
You think what we see is merely a function of where we are and how far we have walked to get there.
Of where we are and where we think we ought to be.
and then it was over
and there was nowhere left to go
still we kept walking