These threads we weave,
what a tangled web we've conceived.
Memories woven into paper, parchment.
Ancient tapestries, un-carved dreams.
Lost souls, disregarded screams.
Millions upon billions of years,
we've spent revolutionizing our means.
The purpose of life, is much simpler
than previously seemed.
Mother nature's blessings, are all that we need.
Survival of the fittest, so it seems.
We all compete, for that irresistible dream.
Those iridescent shapes and colors you perceive.
Are so blatantly out of focus; how insightful of we.
These chains rusted and broken, they all speak to me.
Could it be we've been asking all of the wrong questions?
What if there isn't a purpose to life, and no end to suffering?
How do we attain the unattainable goal, that gift everlasting?
I think we've been asking all of the wrong questions.
And it's absolutely maddening,
© 2013 Christina Jackson