Because we are
Self Aware Beings
we wonder like amnesiacs,
how we got here
and desperate for colors
we believe almost anything fantastic
as though we are all diamond fragments
of stars or angels displaced
from heaven or space.
I mean, magic is making new matter from nothing,
magic means we matter, we made this matter.
If we make-this-matter is magic made, elementary
with rock and metal.
This is simply us discovering
alchemy and fire and calling out surges, reactions,
such as desire and emulsify
concluding for every x
there is a why.
Of course, we are all-chemical beings
and we play with this, naturally
moving letters about
being creators and more concoctors,
self-prescribing physicians by our own
curious volition to flux of powers,
that make New (again).
We often curse our many selves for attempting
escape, a wait-less trip would be idyll...
on Holiday from everyday...
This must be common.
What is pressure but awareness of mortality,
destiny maybe an attempt to fly
is a stab at free will
that gets too thick and close
to the heart and mouth
for sobriety to say-
How many times must Death come knocking
before you hand him the key?
Painting by Andrei Ryabushkin [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
