Are We Real?
Life is just a spiralling spinning top
Full of questions that go unanswered
Full of confusion and no answers.
Are they real?
The people I see and hear on the street,
The honking of cars as people go about their days,
The constant movement of an insane world.
Are they real?
Or just pawns in a giant chess game
Being moved about until the final move
When the game ends.
Are we real?
Or just dolls in a child's dollhouse
Played with until the child is too old
And we are left forgotten and alone in the dusty cave.
Everything is just a mind trick, reflections
Colours, shadows even the moon.
Therefore does it not seem logical
That that is what we are?
We are just reflections of the chess player
Moving us about the board,
Of the children
Moving us about the dollhouse.
What are we really?
In control with free will?
Our own selves?
Or just the naïve characters of a different kind of fairy tale
Quite often without the fairy tale ending,
The Happily Ever After.