The Young Philosopher

Must it be? So it must So all these flowers turn to dust these blades of green will turn to brown this toiled tree burnt to the ground Life means so little and yet so much Such short a time so small a touch does one human life have upon the earth yet a mass can inflict either massive good or massive hurt A simple thought can turn to one deeper Is life so simple that it ends with one reaper? Or is there more than what we live amongst? What we see and taste and hear and touch? Is life so translucent that we accept what we know? Is what we know all there is? Or is that all that’s meant to be shown? Was there a past to our memories that is now lost and ridden Or is there truly one life to live and one afterlife to the ones forgiven? Is there one true power that creates every one of us Or is such a thought an early dream seen from a foggy window oculus? If the earth is round, is time not the same? If my life means something, is there a reason or aim? Besides what purpose I decide for myself Is there some unknown power that has given thought’s help? Is what I touch and taste truly there, or is this a figment of mine? Is what I write and what I stare a true anomaly in a sea of time? They could be lies and illusions and cancer Who is there to beg an answer? They could be truths and fascinations What is there but the imagination? The human mind is one to question Such diversity in all intentions Only consistent in terrific ways Be it by acts of charity or acts inhumane Is it human to question? Is it human to accept? (cont.) Is it human to search and destroy? Is it human to act inept? What logic rages in my heart? What feeling soars through my brain? What catastrophic irony betrays me While I carry fire in rain? The sea rolls thick The rocks grow sick The sand paves way The sky is painted gray By the clouds which wind simply cannot sway What’s done is done But what pain has stained Can never be removed Will always remain So as new blades grow green and lean and full and succession makes haste in its slow natural pull the creatures all live and breathe day by day breeze and gust Must it be? So it must