Stories abound, battles fought
about how man came to be:
evolved from apes, alien
offspring, God shattered into
millions of holographic
pieces. Who am I? Why am I
here? What’s it all about, Alfie?
We are like blind new-born
puppies looking for the teat,
crying out for warmth, sustanence,
and love. We are filled with
longing, for what we do not
know, yip, yip, yip.
Finally the day comes when
our eyes open and we see a
little through our milky
eyes. Our legs become
stronger; we grow with increasing
speed, until our mother nudges
us away, her nipples falling
from our mouth.
Yet, still our questions remain
unanswered: Who am I? Why am
I here? What is my purpose?
My need to know propels me
to begin my quest, asking
all along the way.
“And how does the story end?”
you ask. “It ends as it was
meant to be.”
have you posted this one before? the puppies imagery is familiar
yip yip yip indeed
no, this is the first time, but puppies are probably a favored metaphor for poets. Perhaps you read it somewhere else. Or I did use the metaphor in the past and do not remember. That happens, too. BTW, you have not been put into spam for the past couple of days.
hugs, pat
I just checked my site’s spam folder, but it was all spam.
hmm. strange that this poem seemed so familiar to me.
maybe it was just the truth of it ringing
Those very questions, once I asked them, changed my life forever. In a good way.
Yes, they are the aba-ca-dabra that opens the door to our quest. The Kabbalaists call it finding your “point in the heart” and say that it is at that moment that we receive our soul. Interesting idea. hugs, pat
Very nice.
Mankind has always been filled with so many questions. Maybe it’s best of we just relax and go with the flow.
Perhaps, but it does not seem to work that way for most of us. Perhaps this comes later. hugs, pat