Many are fond of saying
that nothing is what it seems,
that one day I might wake up
to find life was only a dream
Maybe I’m a photon of light
traveling in a broken, rusty Chevy,
shipped prematurely from the factory
long before it was prepped & ready
Whether born a Mercedes in a third world utopia
or a Pinto in a first world slum,
We have no choice in the matter
when all is said and done
Each person I meet is a photon of light
in a one-of-a-kind human jalopy –
Like me, a few dents & dings, some creaky springs,
inside a bit unkempt, perhaps even sloppy!
We’re all sparks off the cosmic sun
with our own little part to play
in this nonsensical game of life
that wiser pens have called a stage
But a play with no script
is a peculiar sight –
like a song without a melody,
a children’s poem without a rhyme
Whence arrives the meaning,
what director assigns the roles?
Ah, the eternal question!
Does anyone really know?
So the next person you meet,
please cut them a little slack
We’re all stumbling toward the future,
and there is no turning back.