How much is seen

How much is seen

In the play of the day,

In the run through life?

What gets left behind

In the transition

From this to that,

As we embark, with the barest

Understanding of humankind

As a concept,

And the impact

Our journey has

Made on its surroundings.

Footprints,

Frozen into the fabric

Of our days,

Layered with subtle indentation,

Become fossils,

Ascribed with possibility

And bereft of experience.

Even the tears we shed

Become apologists

For our failings.

We stumble through shadows,

Meanings, obscured in mystery,

Failing to grasp

The significance

Of a participation

In the distraction

From the purity that lies

In a search for purpose.

Life becomes a lie

We tell our children

To keep the wolf

From the door.

And the quest

We all began together,

Following our own paths,

As fresh faced neophytes,

Newly formed, bright lights,

Wide eyed,

And full of the

Wonder of things,

Gradually peters out,

Into a scramble for survival.