If there weren't any reality,
Then there wouldn't be any way to wonder
Questioning it's truth, its very existence.
You think, therefore you are?
Your conscious ability to question, is that proof enough?
I ponder, I bask, this day now, it has passed—
Yet what can be confirmed until
We know consciousness is pure validity
Some would say the topic is mundane, over-analyzed,
Some assume there's no reason to think about it,
After all, no answer is indisputable,
And why ponder that which cannot be confirmed?
But who are we to say?
Philosophy's essence can only confuse one more,
(I'll accidentally remind myself of such, every day)
And yet in the quaking
Of the diamond-dusted dawn,
In the tremble of the night,
The apperception of it all,
Through and through, and 'round the late
Can even I, can all, including those who have died—
Entrust their might through life on grime
Of every sullen soul's demise—
Within the evening's promise of hope
Or blindly fall
Beneath it all...