Desperate
by Sae Park, Special Contributor

the world itself is an abstract piece of art.
people are its critics.
we try to make sense out of this world.
correct or not,
for while the almighty perfect god, the creator does not speak
in the meantime we play god.

for we cannot tolerate our state of confusion,
closures come prematurely
the things which we once called facts are proven wrong,
and are constantly being revised.
endless revisions...
the facts were never facts.

who appoints the critics?
as soon as we spit out a word of criticism,
we become the omniscient superiors of this world.
when closure comes,
we feel a sense of security and stability.
what we are mindlessly forgetting is that
a closure is the best friend of ignorance.
we, stand superior in this world but we stand in ignorance.