Partial Picture

Partial Picture
- e.webb

We write lifes story,
 from the fossils of death .
Yet what about the creatures of past,
no fossil they left?

The parachute of  any a life's riddle  is dreams
a  sub conscious ;a dream ; a mind spring clean,
Sense made , by choosing facts on which your sanity may lean.
Thus creates the individual of every human thats been.

A persons pandoras box
You chose if your conscious key 
will open its locks?

Can you really trust the handed face of clocks ?

The length of a second can change with the wind,
for joy filled will pass all to soon,
yet one in fear will onward loom.

A lot of life's quibbles, 
understood on the back of presume.
All  answers seeked, 
create questions all to soon.

measure this,
 measure that, 
what about un measurable fact 
measures, unimagined to a fact not fathomed
Much is there that we don't see,
so do we measure pointlessly.

even Freedom of choice,  not real
for two laws govern what we  do feel

Love and fear is the shackles of free choice,
all we do is because of either one,
memories mean ,even after a moments gone.

All humans try's to be understood by others,
is this not the reason we seek lovers?

Life its self is not your choice,
you have no say in your own creation,
something you can only question,
after your formation.

all of life is paradoxical in terms,
for life means your death, a cycle that onward turns.

Black holes don't apply to the known.
No light ,
so no measure shown.
So how can we label such things  as 'holes' 
suggesting  a dimension to which our brain thinks it knows,
and no colour yet call it 'Black'
But its existence is just, unknown and facts lack.

Do we forget in this maze,
the living a life, in all why?s haze

We preach, teach, dictate , and presume
yet none can know the full picture,
all just assume.

I feel wise to know,
 What I know,
the paradox of,
knowing nothing of 
knowing a know,

So sit back and enjoy the show