Would the answers be fulfilling
to the questions of the feeling?
Will it stay a while, or just come & go,
for i’m never truly alone, but will i ever know?
Suppose it’s not for me, i don’t actually exist;
a piece of a story, a drop in the mist.
If there isn’t a beginning and isn’t an end,
what could be worth a feeling on an endless bend?
Could a picture be created with just one color?
If not for the dark and the light, what wouldn’t be similar?
Suppose sad is necessary, not scary,
and to fuse this with happiness all will marry.
If all is to come must equal what goes,
who is “I” to question the ways of the flows?
For the rain may come and a tree may fall,
the rivers could flood and the sprouts could stall,
as a speckle of time it comes as unjust,
but as one with the light, dark, and dust we must trust.
