I want it all.
I have a craving for what this world has to offer
and I'm daring to see if it'll be fulfilled.
Yes, shiny baubles and warm sensations
bring them all.
But I also want the depths of human experience
I want love
I want meaning and purpose
To answer to higher call while knowing none exists

Do my words sound cryptic?
As well they should.
Language, poetry, fiction
All are imperfect means of communicating the breadth of consciousness.
They are tools our ancestors created haphazardly,
Quite by accident
In search of reassurance and comfort
In the coldness of existence.

This modicum of life cannot be grasped entirely by any
Save sages and scholars some say.
Mystics and dabblers they are.
Life is not viewed from a single lens.
Would you stare at your lover only through photograph from afar?
Life requires mixing and intersplicing to bear any examination at all

So once again I ask, do my words sound cryptic to you?
I sure hope they do because I hold no answers.
Those I learned long ago are quickly dispersing
with who knows what else
and all to no avail