Should I make a concept story?

I am thinking about making a concept story out of the following, although I very rarely try to write stories:

There are somethings that I just don't understand. How can we, as the human race, build such amazing structures, do such amazing feats, yet still be so destructive and malevolent to ourselves and one another? It is just so disheartening. When you feel so high up, then you go back down, but you eventually level yourself out, but being level is not exciting. You want to be up high. It's like tossing a buoyant object high into the air, then having it crash into water, let it sink, then have it float back up, but not touch the sky again. It just remains at the surface. That is the basic story line of the following poems that I have written (keep in mind, I am not trying to pitch my poetry, I am just simply using them as an example.)

Falling Up the Down Escalator
Mortum
5,500
Bucolic; a) Veni; b) Vedi; c) Vici
Carotid
(A Melancholic Perpetuation of) Breathtaking Moments
Into the Void
Shelf Ware
Greatness From Small Beginnings
Guts, Grindstones, Gunshots, and Gumballs

Starting with "Fall Up the Down Escalator," which is about pure excitement, then the sudden drop, when reality strikes in "Mortum." "5,500" was written on November 2nd when I was exactly 5,500 days old, and is about how time is a leach, and is told from to point of view of the obscure "object" stated before just before it hits the water. "Bucolic..." is in the point of view of the water, explaining why it is there. "Carotid" is the "object" taking out it's anger on the water for not letting it fly. "...Breathtaking Moments" is about the "object" remembering it's short time in the air, and how it lasted forever, it seems. "Into the Void" is the "object" describing it's descent into the abyss of the water. "Shelf Ware" is the "object" saying good-bye to what could have been. "Greatness From Small Beginnings" is the only poem in the point of view of the thrower of the "object," in which television is used metaphorically to describe assimilation. Then, finally, "Guts, Grindstones, Gunshots, and Gumballs" is the poem about assimilation, which surfacing on the water is metaphorical for. You start floating back up, thinking that you're going places, but then you stop short at a place where all you can't even see the horizon, metaphorically of course. This is eluded to in "Bucolic..."

That is basically my story about life. You think you are on top of the world, then you drop like a lead weight, then float to a place that is in between the sunshine and the shit, but turns out to be somewhere worse than what lies below you. It's kind of sad really. Let me know what you guys think. Should I make a story out of it, or not?