Life Is Mostly What We Choose To See
Life is mostly what we
Choose
To
See.
A bird will leap and look down
At the world below,
But when it takes off,
It’s head will take a peak at the sky:
That is the space
Where it flutters
It’s wings
To
Fly.
Space is a construct
We seem to quantify,
But what qualifies
A measurement other than
Mindless
Repetition?
We know our feet
And inches,
Alongside our
Meters
And
Loose
Change
Called
Cents,
Because a repetitive
Pattern
Of being taught distance
Seemed to
Bridge the
Gaps
Of knowledge
That previously kept us
From measuring
The place we occupy:
Space.
We have the
Outer
Space,
But we will forever be mastering
The inner ones
Too:
The ones
We call our
Mind
And
Soul.
Like the bird,
We too have wings
In the form of ideas
That take us all in
Our own directions.
With no
Mapquest
Or Google
To follow our route,
We’re sometimes wandering on our
Own,
Because our fate has been
Sown.
We explore as
Adventurers,
But
Act like
Confident
Navigators.
Even when we don’t know
Exactly where we’re
Going,
Life will always be
What we choose
To
See.
What’ll it be?
The Empire State
Just across the
Sea
Or
The Empire Strikes Back
On
A flatscreen
TV?
Does it strike you
As
Odd
That the world is our
Playground,
But we aren’t
Always
Playing?
No rest for the
Wild,
And none
For the
Wicked.
What brews is hardly
Sorcery
Or
Magic,
But
Facts
And
Figures.
We’re off
Reading blogs
On the internet,
And chuckling
At a light source
We call our
Phone.
Because it’s just
Another thing
To do:
To pass the time that we
Have.
In an
Hourglass that we buried
In an
Attic.
Somewhere.
In
Some
Home.
We spend our time
Like a currency we control:
With
No understanding
Of the
Value.
Let’s all be speculators,
Not
Spectators,
In this world
That’s been built
From
The land
Before
Time.
Choose our professions,
With
All
Our
Confessions:
A currency speculator,
I propose,
With time as our
Commodity,
And
The world
As our
Community.
We shall
Build our homes
With nothing but
Bricks of the mind,
And wood from the
Trees of our soul.
The same trees
We
Climbed
Are the ones
That help create our
Castle
Where we can store
Our
Time:
Room by room,
As guests of our
Manor,
Treating them
With respect
In
This gentle
Manner.
If time is a construct,
Why not be builders
Or
Bidders,
Waging
Bets on
What construction comes next?
After all,
Life is what we choose to
See.
So what will it be?
Construct
Or
Construction,
Or
Under
Construction?
P.S.
Just
No
Constriction.
