Tiny

White pages mock me, slight me, taunt me,

Write if you dare, tear out your hair,

What is your might against the rage of time,

You are but a mite in the vast empty infinite,

Insignificant, insufficient while time is indifferent,

Your words matter nought, onward though you trot,

But what if?

What if people cared, the multiple read me on a dare,

I shall begin to matter, my ideas no longer benign shall fester in minds,

Irrelevance shall fade, in reverence I will be paid,

My name will be used, abused perhaps with the fame,

Then I shall not be a mite, instead will fester in minds left and right,

So what if?

Came the sneering reply, mocking, jeering at my fanciful flight,

No matter your fame, no matter your acclaim,

No matter if every man, woman and child chants your name,

Humanity is but a line in the grand design,

Puffed up in importance, chuffed in their own arrogance,

But remember this,

The human race is puny, mad and loony,

It will never amount to much and you, sir, are just one of the bunch.