Author: Nigel G Wilcox 20.12.19
Chapter Seven
Do you hear me in the forest, to feel the pain?
Like the tree falling without a witness or a shout from the distance of fame...
Do you see when the brook overflows into the streets
And the witness with the tears as they soak into the ground?
When one looks up to the sky, where is the witness when life is all around?
The leaves gently fall with silence and alone as we look up to the stars,
A journey for one of so many are everything other than cloned.
Giving back for taking from a planet with moans …
Throughout our lives, every living thing lives a life, it is unique!
There is only a one way ticket, we share measured lives on the way.
Who will miss us when we go, when the shell falls or is buried?
And the fires blaze through the forest to consume our existence...
We see damage control, our lives hijacked by the influence of many,
The only difference is our programmed destiny...
Where do we go from here? Do we go from here?
What Master's do we serve, will we gain our freedom from being controlled?
Will we live a lifestyle or start again, perhaps in a parallel reality?
Do we live in a hell already and will continue with beings of higher technology?
What of the book, what of the man, what of our existence?
Like the stone being thrown onto the pebbled beach...
Lost within the paranamic view of an expanse beyond our reach,
Further eroded, corners knocked off over millennia.
Until, we are a grain of sand or clay once molded from...
What of the promise for peace, or of man?
No disagreements, just a program to conform...
Accepting the limits of a confinement of what?
A planet, a galaxy, a universe, beyond?
Are we the angels or favour of the designated ones...?
To rule like the image we have become,
With the limitations of the wildebeest
To the deities of staff, crowns of gold?
Humble indeed, seasoned, perhaps cultivated for a reason,
Cultivated experience, a food source of intelligence,
A currency of storytelling, is that our existence?
We wait patiently for another experience.
Like the tree falling without a witness or a shout from the distance of fame...
Do you see when the brook overflows into the streets
And the witness with the tears as they soak into the ground?
When one looks up to the sky, where is the witness when life is all around?
The leaves gently fall with silence and alone as we look up to the stars,
A journey for one of so many are everything other than cloned.
Giving back for taking from a planet with moans …
Throughout our lives, every living thing lives a life, it is unique!
There is only a one way ticket, we share measured lives on the way.
Who will miss us when we go, when the shell falls or is buried?
And the fires blaze through the forest to consume our existence...
We see damage control, our lives hijacked by the influence of many,
The only difference is our programmed destiny...
Where do we go from here? Do we go from here?
What Master's do we serve, will we gain our freedom from being controlled?
Will we live a lifestyle or start again, perhaps in a parallel reality?
Do we live in a hell already and will continue with beings of higher technology?
What of the book, what of the man, what of our existence?
Like the stone being thrown onto the pebbled beach...
Lost within the paranamic view of an expanse beyond our reach,
Further eroded, corners knocked off over millennia.
Until, we are a grain of sand or clay once molded from...
What of the promise for peace, or of man?
No disagreements, just a program to conform...
Accepting the limits of a confinement of what?
A planet, a galaxy, a universe, beyond?
Are we the angels or favour of the designated ones...?
To rule like the image we have become,
With the limitations of the wildebeest
To the deities of staff, crowns of gold?
Humble indeed, seasoned, perhaps cultivated for a reason,
Cultivated experience, a food source of intelligence,
A currency of storytelling, is that our existence?
We wait patiently for another experience.
Humans and Their Existence
No.100
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