This is what I am,
An entity trapped in flesh,
Bound to this planet,
And this man-made time,
This word bound cycle.

So many words,
Created by,
Who had the right?

Where to go,
What to do,
How to know?

We question,
Always question,
One after another,
Answers don't stem the flow,
They add to the masses,

We wander,
Truly aimless,
Bound by superficiality,
Bound by this society,

Waiting and fearing,
The beginning of the next phase,
Of what we call existence,
All of this supposed knowledge,
May or not mean anything,
In the rest of the journey,

Though we will each find out in turn,
If we will simply be,
Take up space,
Or if there is really more,
Some man-made fantasy,
Brought into some form of existence,
Simply by the hopes and striving,
Strings of hearts build and destroy,

Forever trying to push towards,
Anything away from natural,
Too jealous of the future undecided,
To let them enjoy the wonders that
Past generations have seen,
Jealous of the will be loss,
Subconcious prevention of future wonderment,

Failed in its seed,
Somewhere,
Sometime,
There will be a seed of wonderment,
Always.

Mysteries "solved" and "explained",
Are mysteries yet,
No matter the explanations,
No matter the variations,
It will remain,
With or without some
Proposed "reason" for being,

We are born,
Similar to ships,
Put together piece by piece,
Parts to make a whole,

And we are born,
Our maiden voyage,
Into this half destroyed reality,
And as we grow and as we live,

We crack apart,
And we learn of others,
See them and ourselves,
As we look out of our cracks,
And into theirs,

As they look through ours,
Trying to analyze us,
For some sense of belonging, normalacy, and serenity,
Light pours out,
And light floods in,

And in the end we crack,
Until we fall apart,
And then we're gone,
Leaving behind these,
Decaying trappings of flesh.

Never put up with something you can't stand,
You have too little in the way of sandy substance,
Of this man-made hourglass,
Once you go, you cannot come back,
Do what your heart pulls you to do,
And don't regret the person you are,
Because all of the the little imperfections,
Everything that isn't status quo,
Every little second of different colors of emotions,
Every shade of light and shadow,
Every single jaded facet and raw uncut surface,
Make you the only you to ever exist in all of the hisotry of existence.

Don't do things and make memories,
So that you can say I did something with my life,
Keep your memories,
So that even if you're old and senile,
Somewhere you didn't quite expect,
At a rest stop in your journey,
You still have an intriguing and outlandish story,
To tell yourself at night when you stare at the moon,
And wonder that you are the one staring in such a tale,
Something that wasn't a lie but true in our words,
Watch the devices that tell you you're going to disappear,
From this form of existence that much sooner.

Live because you can,
Because you are,
And you will,
Create a path to imminent Now's.

Like a rolling stone,
It will not stop,
Unless acted upon,
By an outside force,
That stone is your 'life',
And while it is you,
You are also an outside force,
Act upon it,
Take it where you will,
It is yours to do with what you wish.

~Maela seithr de Belladone