Laying awake in the early hours of the morning and I can’t help but wonder of things I know to be true and right and good. Or do I really know? Cogito, ergo sum _ I think, therefore I am, or so it goes.

For when my thoughts wake in the place where dreams and sleep collide, my questions are eternal and the void never-ending. Yes, I would give my right eye like the All-father to drink from wisdom’s well.

I think about time and chaos and existence and I have more questions and no answers.

For did time exist before the word itself or was it born from chaos as it is said all things were.

Every star we see in the night sky is centuries old, it’s light just a ghost of a flame that burnt hundreds of years ago.

Where is the purpose in humans? flesh that rots, hearts that feel and fade like the very cycle of breath itself.

What is life if not borrowed time? Like whispers in the breeze, a rhyme without meaning.

We are like a puzzle without its frame, the bigger picture cannot be found.

We plan and think and build with the thoughts we own, and yet the very concept of ownership is a lie in itself.

We claim our sense of self, and yet no one is set in stone. For the thoughts and personality we create dissolve and unravel as the moments go by.

We carve our names on stones that will weather when the elements get to them and we say to ourselves “Look I made my mark” and yet our foolishness is only seen by the stars.

I look into a mirror. I am but a flicker passing only for a while, I am the morning fog that hovers above the fields of grass, dissipating without control and leaving no traces behind.

The universe is but a testament to itself, it laughs in our faces for the secrets we can’t decipher.

An ant would not comprehend the height of a mountain, nor would a whale comprehend the span of the ocean.

Like that, we keep crawling, completely unaware and lost in our own foolishness.

Living or dying, the sentient will always hear the echo of that silent call.

That clock, we chase is but a broken one, it points to nowhere true.

Greece and Rome rose and fell, they were the greatest and fall they did, The wonders of the ancient world are just that, ancient.

Nothing can resist the call of time or halt the reaper when he comes to bear.

Is every good dream we have a wish? Is every good thought our attempt at soothing the curse and ache of our birth?

Everything fades to nothing, and we head for oblivion, who will remember my name? Who will remember your name? Not the dust nor the rain nor the earth will remember you or the whispers of your pain.

Have we lived? Truly lived or do we just exist? When all the roads lead to certain and silent death and nothing is profoundly astounding, what have you brought forth?

When that last breath comes and the light fades in your eyes and the muscles that pump your blood can do so no more, will you at last know everything in those few seconds? some release and relief, a rewards of sorts or will it all just come to rest?

This weighs on me, yes, it feels like the weight of a thousand suns, Yes, like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.