Mission: Life

Ever wondered at the true call
Of mist and fog and crisp air;
Of the waters blue and trees tall,
And love and health and care?

What is it we are to achieve?
What must we find answer to?
Is there more to see, believe?
Is there more to give and do?

Yet, as the path passes us by,
Where is the time to introspect?
Or investigate between sigh
The origin of different dialect?

We are one in form and yet so far
From the other in thought and act;
In attire and preferences and scar
And in role, as a matter of fact.

Is the mission: 'mysterious breath'?
Are we aliens who have come home?
Are we to simply embrace cold death,
As specs in magical, cleansing foam?

Looking around there seems to be
A dream-like apparition all around.
Are we really traversing the sea
Or are we really beneath ground?

Does what meets the eye hold truth?
Is what we hear the actual song?
Are the co-existent aged and youth
Going to be around for very long?

How long is long, or even short?
What is true, or the wave of wand?
What is real and what is naught?
What brings on need to respond?

Clearly there must be more.
Or is it intellect proving spree?
Are we trying to hide a sore?
Or be baffled with new mystery?

No answer, only views and idle talk,
While we strive towards the quest;
Climbing higher to break the lock
Of intriguing cells before final rest.

In pursuit of new explanations,
We are oblivious to all around;
To miracles and revelations,
To beauty of sight and sound.