What makes us human,
is not easily defined?

What clutters this mess
we call conscious
is not something
I can measure well
with my mind?

What drives the feminine mystique
is a perilous penultimate peak
which I seek?

What moves us all
to walk or crawl
when life’s pain
is overriding
our common sense
when our existence
does not permit this
persistence?

What is the truth?