Crevices of Confusion

Crevices of confusion creating chaos

in the cookie cutter shape of our lives.

The endless questioning, cocophony of mixed messages,

like shrill alarms yelling from the four corners of the earth.

To take the time to ponder wonderingly about the reason

of our measly existence and puzzling creation.

Every day we strugge to awake,

fragile butterflies emerging from caccoons,

spreading wings of equisite delicacy,

crinkled and wet, we face the day.

Blood pumping, oxygen swishing, 

puffing out our uninflated wings

so we can soar above the impertinence of our being

into a kaleidoscope of colors,

a past time of the Greeks, observers of their beautiful selves,

peering into the mirror lined cylinders.

When did we stop gasping with admiration at who we are?

We've learned so well to be harsh, to judge, to hang our heads in shame.

We're soon to disperse into millions of sad particles.

Before we cease to exist, we must disover our true name.