Oscillating
The sun is only an illusion that rises every dawn
Reality is only a place; but is it solid ground to stand on?
The population of the world balances idly on broken will,
The world spins around me, and here I am, standing still.
Sometimes the sky opens up and the pain starts to pour,
Mere little mortals, we wonder who we are and were before.
Identity seems so grounded, correct and set in stone
But are we really the same when people fade and we’re alone?
When the clouds shift from white to violent grey
And dawn turns to dusk, to night, then dawn and day.
When the wind moves my perception and I see beyond the hills,
The world spins around me, and here I am, standing still.
Yesterday my God was judgmental; today he is prone to forgive
Is life a meaningless hell, or am I purposed in fate and destined to live?
All the questions that arise as the darkness morph to dreams,
Am I black? Am I white? Or am I some unnamed shade in between?
Dismal winds shift my world and scattered showers drown my shadow,
Suddenly I feel I’m on my own until I find myself in the rainbow
Contradictions leave me starving when I’ve had my fill,
The world spins around me, and here I am, standing still.
Inspired by my kitchen fan. The muse comes in so many forms.
