Existence

Can life be truly still?

Does movement inherent

make clear its will

for eternal change?

Can life be all commotion?

Do roots run deep and still,

patterns like the tide of oceans,

showing rest in repetition?

Is life merely contrast?

Can same and same exist

in first and last, slow and fast,

all alike and different?

Does truth exist immutable?

Do we peer through mist

in a cycle eternal,

losing and finding pieces of truth?

Can you live here?

Can you survive scrutiny

to hold me near, hold me dear

in my threatening disbelief?

Apparently HubPages does not like short hubs (like...hubs that contain one short poem...*cough cough*). So, again with the...uh...content generating. So, this is my attempt at pouring out the chaos in my head during a period of my life when I was questioning things even more than I usually do. It wasn't about making sense of the chaos but just about letting some of it out (it's easier to make sense of less chaos than of more chaos). Anyway, in times of difficulty I find it easiest to pour out my soul in poetry, since I don't have to get detailed or specific and can just pour out raw emotion and make something almost beautiful out of it. So, here is another of my rhymes with no reason.