Only the merest part

This human life

So often full of strife

Is still a gift

Depending on how you think of it

But there is more to being

Than the thinking of an existance

That assumes its particular shape

Under the microscope of memory and intention

Which arises after the facts

For there is still this vibrational force field

Of life and being

That we arise from and reside within

A matrix of energies and flows

That warps and wefts and weaves our life

And thought is nothing but the abstraction of it

A thing mostly drawn in shades of black and white

That can never fully describe

The complex subtle hues of life and pain

Love and night

Dark and light

That form our soul

And so we humans look sometimes to poetry

And then to art and dreams

In an attempt to engage with what once

Passed through our being

Leaving its markings and etchings

Formed the complex layering of our soul

For we so often only consciously know

Only the merest part of it

Rising and falling in this complex mystery

Of existence