I’m fascinated how the colors make themselves appear,
How the animals hunt whatever’s near,
Why the universe is, if God’s a she or his,
Or everything in between.
What’s real or a dream.
If oxygen exists on other planes,
Or alone we are, it’s all the same.
Why the good die young,
Why a pinkish tongue.
Or everything in between.
Life after death? Words before our very last breath.
Whisper this to me, in opened eyes and ears that hear,
The truth and lies, and watery tears,
That cry themselves to sleep, not to gently weep,
But to wake and give the world a shake.
Or everything in between.