Stone-thrown.
******* through the air.
Waiting to land .
Not at home in the air.
Like some other things.
Should be left to rest.
As they are.

Thrown into the depths of life.
Drawing from ones first breath.
The will to be.
Not knowing what will be at this time.
Yet not needing to know.
For it is the first yet not the last time,
we'll be free.

Leaving to rest what may never seem
to come or be.
Leaning towards what can be instead.
Yet therein lies a mistake, some make.
Excepting who the world makes us out to be.
Instead of being all that we could be.
If we dear to follow our dreams .

Alone on a shelf.
This life would be.
If left as it was from the start.
If not for the longing to be seen.

Content just to be.
To continue along this path to who knows where.
Wandering without wondering how or why.
Content to be with or without.
Knowing the difference it wouldn't make.
Left or right.
Right or wrong.
Who is to say who we are?
When it comes to the end.
Who knows what then?
So we at sometime need to be content.

?

Lost would be this world.
With no questions leading to no answers.
Nothing of knowledge to be shared.
Yet would it be lost?
When knowledge itself can be destructive.

Somkey autumn air.
Setting in on a night sky.
It's fragrance marking the end of summer.
And the start to cooler times ahead.