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by Mathew Cheung
   

Like a needle in a haystack,
In a stack of many stacks,
Of a barn of many barns,
On a farm of many farms.
So small and insignificant,
Yet so uniquely unique.
A needle in a haystack,
But not a strand of hay
Embody the needle,
Made of steel,
Made by man,
Formed by hands,
Sharpened
To a point.
But lost
In infinite space.
How do you find
A needle
In a haystack?
Burn
It.

 

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