I cannot tell you why
I do some things I do.
There are thoughts
and there are feelings.
There are memories
and there are dreams.
For some, conditions dictate
what must follow from the now.
For me, conditions pose
a pallet full of colors
from which my whimsey draws.
There is no plan,
no everlasting goal,
only wonder at
what might emerge
when this and that
are brought together
in focused harmony.
Our brains are small.
The world is vast.
Piece by piece, fitted thus,
can we begin to grasp
truth by which
the world around us
sleeps and wakes and grows.
Vain to imagine
we gain control.
Insight perhaps
at what might be harvested
or, what’s best left just so,
completely unmolested.
Ah but some, too many for sure,
refuse to heed the difference
between what’s free for taking
and that if taken
will precipitate fair haven
tumbling down around.
Two pictures you do see.
Within, both light and dark.
Also, youth and aged debris.
Fresh rains have quenched their thirst.
And warmth of morning bright
stirs each their inner chemistries.
Quite different from you and me?
Perhaps both yes and no.
We walk and talk and they do not.
But both they and us emerge,
flourish briefly,
then molder unto mush.
We might complain it isn’t fair.
Or, we might observe
the rhythms in the tide
and like a daring surfer
seek to grab a ride.
Observe this or that.
Try making sense of how
each is of the other now.
There are no cures for those
refuse to see.
But you will know
as you perceive
vast riches free of consequence
if true insightful caution taken
to avoid a fumbling crumbling
tumbling down.
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