Meaningless

Fault-finding a weed—
a fleeting high,
it drops to the earth,
a silent sound
deafening the mind,
plunging deep into the abyss.

Cannabis in the guise of wanderers,
the wannabes, disobedient wind,
grass once green
fades to brown,
withered, dull, insipid.

A stubborn trend—
spinning, endless,
circling from edge to edge,
never breaking,
never dawning anew.

One steps back
looks at its importance
finding faults in others
takes us off the track
it’s meaningless
it’s meaningless.