I'm gonna read you another poem that I wrote. That's a Roomba, by the way, in the background. Just ignore it. It's the only thing I thought looked interesting enough to put in the background. This poem is called Brimstone. It's better than the last one in my opinion. The forest will grow, sand to stone. You'll mean nothing when it's all done. The world is moving, it will move without you. The forest will grow over our homes, you'll see nothing when you're done. The forest will grow, the brimstone, forest, flames and fire, war, crime and desire. At the end of the day nothing matters, it's all just a sad illusion, how we all try to give meaning to this emptiness. I'll ever ask myself is what's the point? What's the point in being happy? What's the point in living? there's no value in being here, then why stay at all? Why try not to fall from a height so far to bear? It's all just an illusion to give meaning to the emptiness, the forest, flames of fire, the war, crime, and desire. If there's no point in trying, if there's no point in falling, then there's all the reason to be here, to be happy, to stand tall, be strong, be here, and be free. See the world that keeps moving even if you're not here. It's more of a reason to try to fight the brimstone. Perspective is everything. the meaning of that one.

I love this poem and it's entirety I might just write it in my journal not only because of how much it emphasizes the fact that the world will simply move on with or without you but I also really like how I use a forester visualize this because now I can think of a far is going and really realize how insignificant a period of life or a period in life is