The Point of it All

The point is jagged. The point is sharp. The point is so obvious that I’m the only one who doesn’t see it. People around me consume the point. They are pierced front and back by the point, and now they are beacons of light in my dull darkness. They illuminate the clod of earth, the dust mote that I am.

Wrong turn.

Wrong exit.

I missed the point again.

published in Iceberg's Poetry