We wonder why it is we are here. We are born, we grow, we learn, and we seemingly die. We wonder why? Why am I me? Who am I? As we grow and learn we form an identity. This identity is mine, yet we mine the why? We become a who, why we ask who? If we know, then we know. But we ask questions still. Do we settle and let the wonder of why say goodbye?
Yet here we are here and much do we do. It is being done, all kinds of fun. We become this, we become that, within a becoming that we ourselves have no answers to. Some say it is this, some say it is that, but we still ask and wonder why. A child, an adult, an elder seen. A birth, a death, it has always been. We look around and enjoy our fruits, our labors too bring us to roots. The ground we stand, the sky we see, the stars we wonder on, all the things we wish upon. Yet opinions scaled and thoughts abound, we cannot understand this world in round. Could it be a memory forgotten?
Our dreams remind us why. They question reality with waking eyes. These dreams brings with them adventures of not possible. The glorious, the scary, the perplexing, the obscure, the beautiful, the out of this world. The wonderment of why within a dreamscape known, is waking eyes or rem? Clue to a puzzle of pieces unknown, unrealized it is from where we’ve been? The who, what, where, when, how, and why of forgotten’s cry. A dream does tell of truths. But what is a dream?
A world of expectations, rules, and behavior of norm. Yet a scale of such, we see it’s broken form. Two sides to a coin this world is. Which is heads, which is tails? What tales explain what’s in our heads? For we bring about knowing’s desires, we play the role and create. We bring ideas, the feeling’s brush, our bodies paint and see we must. So, with wonder we see all that is abound, we can wonder this why we are under.
The wonder of why is but a mirror in the sky. For if there is far there is near. We cannot deny either. So, to be or not to be. That is not the question. The question is why. We wonder either if it be or not be. Why is there a be and a not be? Is it simply too far away to see? Could it be a memory?
With angel’s eyes we are observed. With much love, cameras are rolling.
Zoltan Blue 