Five Minute Musing

There is little of depth one can compose in five minute before rushing off to drop of a high school senior and spend a day in public service/social work at a downtown library. But even phrasing that sentence as I did tells a reader (tells me, myself, in this case, as I write it) about, if not certain predilections or points of view, than at least about the face I would want to show the world. Language does that. Diction, and flow, and voice. What one says. How one says it. I could spend five minutes ranting about the injustices in the world, were a different person. I could compose a sparse haiku. But instead, I combine a touch of philosophy with a little self-serving martyrdom and patting my own back, and then I go on to analyze it. Thus so much of my life is distilled. Perhaps nearly everything we do, in small ways, can be seen as metaphor for how we live our lives and who we are. Perhaps that's just the poet in me, thinking that.