I feel small. Giants, screaming giants,
And I contemplate them with fear,
With grief, with sleepy tears.
I feel tiny, insignificant,
And perhaps by choice, also alone;
Like a star that once shone.
But the meaning of light I might know not.
I’m curled up inside my comfy bed,
My bed’s inside my room, ’tis inside my house,
Inside my country, inside my continent,
Inside my world! Which is where?
Which measures what?
And if all around me is real, then what am I?
If it is all that big, am I supposed to travel by?
Are my words worth more than a common dime?