Insect of Instinct

An insect driven by instinct
Fluttering aimlessly and pestering
It sees, it hears, it smells, it tastes
It can not feel without thought to tell
All it does is gather food and dispell waste.
It doesn't choose to do without mood
It's just a being doing its part
And it won't deviate from its place 
Or put meaning to a face 
Without a heart that conversates.

Hovering between the trees and bushes 
Buzzing above grass with knees tucked back
Without path, it just kind of flys around, weaves, and circulates.
Dusk is upon when it's told to do
"Find a mate" instinct sticks inside of it.
So it wanders until it does
Wasn't long because they've only instinct.

Just a squat, some touch, clutch and swap of eggs
And then it has done its days and gave more numbers
It met its mate on a leaf and now she sleeps
Probably eternally but at least there will be newcomers.
He's not quite tired so he leaves, set off in flight
The sun has come up and he sees the fire of light 
He's not struck with insight or stuck with instinct
He's just marveled by the glow.
And his mind becomes set in stone
And eyes marbelized
He flys towards his hone.

He's reaching for the stars and going for it
Reaching for what's beyond our atmosphere
And soaring past the stratosphere
No ideas of any sort, no ideas of what's in store
No perceiving and no fearful feeling
No willing, or cheerful filling
Nothing to feed tearful filling
So naturally, it keeps going.

He shoots through all the lighter gases
Seeing things even we can't see without our gadgets and masses
We can see an outward picture
But he has seen the moment
For which he is droven
And as he's leaving, something begins to foment...

An omnipotent force covers and completes him
Cements him in something strange 
And he is hard and cosmic
Becoming a pale and yellow crystalline.
Still reaching for what is seen
There's a feeling of some change.

There is no sensing, leaving the grasp of gravity
No hearing, no touching feeling, no seeing but for colors so far away
No feeling but of a cavity.
In the absence of any sense, nothing driving instinct
Only one source is left
What lies between the right brain and the left
One thing that the bug can claim.

In the absence of any instinctful sense
Something still there cathes his attention
His own sense and feeling, for thoughts and for vision.
The vision of so much more opens doors
Of perception and furthers capability.
There's contemption, distinction, sensation, ability
For thoughts, for loves, opinionation and deep feeling
A view and direction that shoves it more
And only keeps it going towards the sun.
His thoughts don't feed any apprehension
Because he was never knowing in the world before
Could never connect so would never learn and collect
Experience, thoughts, and knowdledge
And it never learned what the sun meant.

It hasn't sensed like this with complications
Hasn't invented hatreds or associations
It has only known in these two spaces
The infinite and intimate with no sense placement.
Infinite space with nothing in it
But an introspective look at great vagueness.
Intimate space with nothing to sense
But perspective and the inward sense
Towards the self and questions of what life is
Without a clue or complications of what life is
And impressions of thoughts and metaphors
Portrayed and taken in the vacance 
That looms so far outward and still contains.
Basic thought free of variables life contains 
Freedom of fear is why he remains here.

The great and godly beacon of light 
That had appeared a mellow, orange and yellow haze
And stretched out kindly with golden rays,
Now more is seen than a gleeming silhouette.
A blast of fire and steaming glaze
Blinding white light centered in the flurried craze.
Passionate reds and angelic yellows
Strike out spastic in exploded limbs
That spin, twirl, curl in, and form extensions.
A dazzling sight and experience forms the bug
And thoughts projected from the sun
Go into the bugs head opening dimensions of conceptions and perceptions
Cosmic thoughts flung from the heavenly tentacles
Heavenly instillment from a cosmic ventricle
Heavenly fulfillment for the bug
Instead of living robotic, instinctual moments.

Getting closer to the shine
Spectacled presence invades the mind
Close encounters of supernatural kind
And the finest things, the bug finds.

It knows and goes
Closer to the sun
Thoughts flow subjectively 
And increasing energy shakes control
The explosive expanse is only enhanced
By the sense in expanse inside the bug.
So close to the sun
Amber particles greet and vibrate the bug
In a peaking moment
The bug dicipates to dust in a flow
And it's still blown towards the sun
And the mind is still one.
And when the dust hits
With some nuclear split
It's thrust back into black
With the sun's own projections.
And when the mind hits
It's encrusted into the sun 
Learns more than the journey had done
And sun and bug become one.