Perhaps it is a very human thing to do,
Striving toward something we don’t really want,
Thinking we want it.
I sometimes read about the journey,
You know, the quest with the capital Q.
“I want to find myself,” we seem to say,
And I find that I harbour similar desires,
Yet at the same time I hope I never do.
Say that I did find all of the fragments,
Would I be the stagnant sum total of my discoveries and nothing more?
If that be the case I would rather be ignorant and believe in endless evolution of self,
Than boxing myself into a definition conjured by a mind mostly incapable of fathoming the universe within self.
Hardly a line of poetry,
My words are not so inclined,
But a dance with thought,
To the beat of introspection~
Is more so imbued.