Horns jut from afros, living in woe.
Ten thousand years ago.
Stepping out of line with a question in my mind: what is the meaning?
Why is it not clear and defined?
I rewind, see myself young.
Conversation and observations fill my heart and lungs.
Younger me is naive but I see his soul grow, reminding me of the me I once did know.
He glows, his child smile awful and wild.
I'm taken back, his future.
My present: unpleasant.
The planet shakes; a rumble in the sky like a mumbling of “why?”
The humbling of I, the wondering of I.
The plummeting of my curious mind divides.
I'm broken into many, some tall and skinny, some short and round, some different sexes.
Body cold; a different hex rejected.
I do my unrest best to work together.
We became a tandem.
Some threw tantrums.
That was eventually solved by an anthem, a beckon.
A call to rise together, to shine together, we became the weather.
A cloud we formed, of must and trust.
We rained on us and became the dust.
This goes on for years, re-birth, the recycling tears.
Still on it goes until something small sprouts.
It raises questions, fears and doubts.
A tiny plant with the budding of blue
That plant would soon become you.