Poetry doesn't always have to rhyme.
Sometimes it's just how you see life
Or how life sees you
Or sees itself.
It's a strange concept- life.
I was once asked by a younger friend of mine, although I am merely twenty-three, what was the meaning of life?
I, like many others, didn't know the answer to such a complex question, but still I pondered it.
I recalled a moment in my life where I had been experimenting with marijuana, not as a means of simply getting baked, but as a tool to experience.
In one of my psychedelic wanings between time and space, I found myself asking questions.
I swirled into myself, my true self, and found that, from my perspective, life is meant as an experience.
To live
To love
To feel
To learn
To understand
To teach to others what we have learned.
And in knowing this- life, and the world I see from my infinitely finite point in this mass of perplexities, became all the more beautiful.
I began to see things as others do.
And still, it was beautiful.
Beautiful, because I was allowed by the creator to experience and wonder the poetry that has been laid before us.