Pondering Existence

I shouldn't be here,
though I don't wish to die.
I ponder beginnings,
middles,
ends-
I envision worlds
heat
and things we can't describe.
No.
No words,
no math,
no art,
no singularity can
describe what we observe.
What is it?
Existence?
We chase the question,
such curiosity,
one that will never be
satisfied.
I ponder my beginning,
my middle
and my end.
I envision a fetus
with a brain
and a heart.
I remember my childhood
it was colorful
to say the least.
I remember my adolescence,
rebellious youth-
drugs and sex.
Now I'm older
and I'm growing up fast,
and you know,
the one thing I just can't remember
is how all that time passed.
And one question
just as evasive as the greats
"Where am I going now?
What will I become?"
And if I could wither
I would.
I could and would and wither
I would
like a wilting rose
in a bed of weeds
rocks and glass bits
puncture my roots
and make me question
my own existence.
Take me now,
oh divine wind,
show me the way.

Reviews

[Sharon Miller Bolander]

I'm going to share an observation. Those who ponder their own existence are usually the ones capable of doing great things. I see a very positive side to this poem and believe you will listen to that still, small voice of wisdom and "take the road less traveled." Sharon