Zombies, automaton vehicles subconsciously drifting about the dream of the day,
awaiting the next quick fix;
do we ever stop to question our existences,
who we really are?
Motioning animals with somewhat higher consciousnesses, few question the depths of the abyss,
Staring into it, in paradoxical terror and bliss.
When does the walk become the glide?
When does the soul begin to swim,
with manta wings
and precious, half-known tingling things?
Is this what we chose?
Past choices culminating into the present state when we arose?
Does our free-will allow us to chose different timelines?
Or is it all written in the stars, determinism,
has it all happened already?
Deja vu. Reality is distorted.
Do I want some semblance of a chart
to map me through these broken stars?
calibrated to a butterfly wing?
Some crystal compass,
aimed at the waves beneath my heart?
Those who felt the music, each flutter of the wings, would dance,
to the others they would appear crazy;
yet to those who heard the music, they could now see,
not a care in the world would knock them off their destiny.
~If you’d like to collaborate, feel free to find my email on this blog’s connect page.~