It’s said, “I think therefore I am.”
Is there more?
Was I just a thought?
Was I even planned?
Just an extra without a defined role in this life;
A vague dream you can’t surmise.
A grass from the needle in the haystack,
expendable, disposable, a ripple in times vast ocean.
Yet beyond reason,
despite those odds, I am.
Not a figment of the imagination nor a vivid memory.
Not a hallucination, not illusionary.
No, real! Inconceivable, quite the contrary.
A mystery to the world and myself,
without a manual to refer.
A true enigma, yet here I am.
Am I just an ember of that old flame,
a remnant of the blast that one time?
Unquenchable this thirst within my heart to find;
who I am, why I am, from whence did I betide?
So little I know, yet awed I am.
I’m stunned beyond belief.
Am I here just by random,
simply spontaneous combustion?
Could all of me, be just by chance,
a roll of the dice, a lucky lottery?
Or dare I say a precious rumination I was;
nurtured, nourished, thought to life.
Insatiable this crave to find why I am.
An artist sees all his works as masterpieces,
after all he brought them forth from the confines of his mind into the world.
So too I choose to believe I am a masterpiece,
Once simply just a thought.
A thought, yet now I think.
A dream, yet now I dream.
No breath, yet now I breathe.
Can such greatness be made from hate?
Would an artist devote countless hours into that which he despised?
Why am I?
I dare to believe I wasn’t carved out or framed in shame;
that I wasn’t dreamt up out of spite.
I’m not just a random thought, I was created right.
I am my maker’s signature;
signed and sealed with love.
After all who creates such beauty out of a grudge?
Yet, if out of malice I was made;
if an elaborate mistake I was,
now that I think I am loved;
“I think, therefore I am.”
I am. I am loved.
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