Someday

In the beginning, we are born, answerless.
Then living, we peer deeply into the darkness,
Imagining the universe knowable,
Adding and subtracting subjective truth.

Food, water, shelter,
Our collective bondage,
A quiet whisper of unity,
Confusing the art of endless war.

The money story, our favorite illusion,
The quest to claim, to hold in our hands a paper house,
To deed from the bank vault, some notion of value.
It is but a fleeting dream.

In this realization, a profound liberty is found—
The only dominion we truly possess is the self.
A parcel of land within, fertile with potential,
Ripe with the seeds of someday.

Yet death, our constant reminder,
Life ends with a period, not a comma.
Every breath is borrowed,
Every heartbeat, a mirror image of the breaking wave,

Perpetually heading back to sea.