Can you see we are soil?

Everything is temporary, everything is grand.

Everything is put together and probably unplanned.

And the moments of wonder like chickens and eggs.

Make me look skyward and utter: questions I beg.

I wish for peace in the chaos that’s my mind…

But would it be peaceful if I could stop time?

Because subjectivity is the only gauge there is

And if you don’t get that then: POP AND FIZZ.

Because to you: ‘everything’ seems totally random.

Every moment created seems unlikely and dumb.

And only you, ego bearer, can know what’s what.

Only you, ego bearer, can anticipate as much.

But some of us in the mortal realm wonder how.

And some of us mortals are wondering now.

Because questions lead to questions: sometimes they're viral

ideas like lightning reflect - in a whirl-pool-spiral.

And when I write about them - it’s a moment of catharsis

When I write a sentence, I think we can start this.

But - we thinkers are faced with so much turmoil…

I’m giving you seeds - can you see we are soil?