"A poem for the Perplexed"

Maybe the reason we don’t have any answers is because there were never any questions.

Maybe there isn’t a reason at all.

Maybe there is no ultimate answer to the million dollar existential question because the question isn’t real but only a figment of our ever wandering and pondering mind.

The power doesn’t lie in our surroundings or even the intrinsic qualities that make us individual.

There is no power after all, but rather perspective.

No good, no evil but only the lingering parallel possibilities, conditions, and opinions in between.

We aren’t made up of good parts and bad parts, for we aren’t made up of parts at all.

There is only one, a person that is born with an infinite number of possibilities manipulated by the quizzical variable that we call our brain in addition to the metaphorical hoops that we jump through.

The need of rules and organization and answers to questions often trumps the blank space that is reality.

A word is merely representation and yet “representation” is merely a word.

Can what is just be?

After all, half of our existence doesn’t really exist at all.