The Illusion of Ease

In time and space

It’s a never ending mystery,

Who we are,

An unfolding story

Even we have yet to catch up on.

The ink is not only still wet,

There are blank pages ahead

Leading to surprises we only hope are good,

Not to mention the surprises we missed,

Parts in the past we skimmed over

In our race to become

Who we think we are.

How foolish it is to try

And define someone else,

Slap a label on

To give existence

The illusion of ease,

To give ourselves

The illusion of knowing

How to navigate the dangers of living,

To give answers
To questions there are no answers to.