The Lady Beetle

I postulate that tonight, while my mind has taken flight, I may be of assistance in a place not far but away from here. It, what ever it may be is diagnosed by heart's desire's which floods neurotic endorphins in mindless states of matter. Let it. It shall. My continuous stream of thought maybe interrupted by other things But hardly can I say that I rough it up without my heart in my head. Later tonight, as dusk is the darkest of all hours before the dawn. the dawn itself may cease to exist for many a people but a child's laugh may bring back happiness unforeseen and perhaps lead or rather pave a road. It is all too common that tradition may stack up nicely for everyone else My rebellious state is hardly an outcry against the institution but the idea of it is unappealing as it, too has become cliche like the word. Old, used, haggard, pitiful and somewhat pathetic I regard life as a unit, a measurement of which time, which itself is undeserving of its name, cannot find me within it although my existence may never touch upon it. It seems that whether in darkness or light, these words represent the absence of thing or another as all words function. The lady beetle may have flown from the nearest bushel of raspberries but upon flying near your freckled nosed, it chose a proper destination upon which nature has chosen to grace herself a little present for creatures with peculiar circumstances.