quiet snow
Dichotomy of the soul
Axial angles
Arranged, around points of confusion
Auspiciously aloof
In this cerebral delusion
That we call
The human experience
And so
We start to look within ourselves;
A phlebotomy on your soul
Drawing ethereal ooze
Emanating extraordinarily
From a source of possibilities
In this life;
And from that,
The juxtaposition
That inadvertently creates choice
And free will.
But does free will really exist
Or are our paths predefined by entropy?
Does it even matter?
Truly;
And I pose this to you, dear reader;
Does your life have meaning?
Why are we here?
What is our purpose?
Is choice equivalent to free will?
All questions I ask myself;
And yet
Sometimes
Introspection can be the thief of joy,
Perpetuator of pestilence within the mind;
So I’ll close with this:
Choose joy, and choose kindness;
Because our purpose and legacy
Is what we weave
And the tapestry left behind
Is our parting gift
tired cedar