Cast into a life sans choice,
Into a world of vibrant sights and sounds,
Of infinite detail and endless wonder,
I lie, astonished, as I grapple with reality,
I look down to find limbs that move,
A critter that remembers and somehow, learns too,
Surrounded by others who seem to look the same,
But bothered least by how they came to be,
Puzzled at how they're unfazed by it all,
I stare in surprise while I join their line,
And as I prepare to choose to start,
I see that some time's already gone past,
And so I drape my clothes and polish my shoes,
As I pack my lunch and head to leave,
I wonder if, perhaps they're right, the way they see,
For they do indeed, seem to know it all,
And before I find words to speak,
And grasp, slowly, the ways of the world,
I'm taught to act, to struggle and to achieve,
To compete with others but make friends still,
That I must strive to have that one thing I don't,
No matter what all I had to lose on the way,
Encouraged to learn from those that have it,
Praying no heed to all that they possess not,
Threatened by a clock that ticks sans mercy,
I run after goals of degrees and jobs,
Enticed by a promise of peace later,
In exchange for my time and strength,
And before I know it, I'm caught in a loop,
Of putting out fires and ticking off lists,
To clear off tasks and things I should do,
So that, one day, I can live for myself,
To return to a peace I could've always embraced,
For it's walked by my side all these years,
Always present but not making any fuss,
Nor receiving from me, the slightest look,
A peace where I could finally wonder,
And ask the question, that I've cast for later,
Questions that were prudent but are now a burden,
For I was always told that other things matter more,
But as I skim through days, I wonder,
If I'm the only one that carries the burden of these questions,
Dragging through life, but troubled by doubt,
As pointless fears and duties steal my attention away,
As I live through time, I look around to see,
Results of my actions, both tangible and not,
Even lives, created by desire planted in my soul,
That I protect, driven by instinct that I claim as choice,
Focus gets pulled asunder by objects even more,
While I fight on to return to an imagined centre,
Looking back to gather memories of accomplishment,
That I can weave a story around and then learn to take pride in,
And as I live on, dragging my doubts along,
I wonder, as I pen my song,
If perhaps no response can truly answer,
Perhaps holier than the answer are the questions themselves,
And so, I record these beats of my heart,
For those who connect, to nod along,
Penning down each turn that my heart takes,
Upon a map of thought that turns to art,
For this is perhaps the holiest I can do,
To offer to life that birthed my soul,
As the devout would lift a handful of water,
To offer it back into the river itself.
