Growing Stranger ~ Philip Brent

Do you believe in magic, elves, fairy-folk and such?
Or do you scoff and scorn, think it’s all too much?
So smart, you know that you can rule out anything?
Disbelieve the intent of galaxies, say stars don’t sing?

I hope I’m not so pompous, I’d discount possibility
Our most tragic tale unto our most glorious victory
Say you have proof inviolate of which you’re aware
Please, let us know what it is, don’t hesitate to share

Despite touting openness, I offer my own candidates
Our consistent cosmos, life and death are ever mates
Our differences oppress us, far outweighed by sames
All start, end equally, despite how we slant the games

You think I’ve reneged on my assertion; it’s not true
Professing surety, I know what I see might be askew
I would, like most, persuade you to my way of seeing
But would never attack or chastise your way of being

My time here so brief, I have hardly started flowing
Sometimes I wonder if I am coming or if I am going
I have limited control of when life moves fast or slow
So at the end of every day, I wonder what it is I know

So foolish, I imagine speaking all the world’s tongues
Would seem little more than the buzzing of electrons
A spec in comparison, we make Whoville enormous
What’s it matter, we all sing parts in the same chorus

Not even sure if this is all or nothing but our dreams
Doesn’t matter what we do, if nothing‘s what it seems
Wonder if we’ll awaken on the bottom or on the top
Should we continue as we are now; is it time to stop

And if this is some fabulous fantasist’s fevered vision
Anything at all may be true or require a total revision
Why then choose for most to travel the darkest path
One equals one, whenever any schoolchild does math

Is a mahogany casket required, plush and satin lined
To decay beneath sun, moon, stars is much maligned
Treating each and all as if they’re just the same as me
More intelligent, compassionate; the only way I’ll be

Perhaps a fool, perhaps not; doubtless, no one cares
Matters not if I ignore it all or sell you my paltry wares
Impact may not be major, might grow my bottom line
And I might become average; that would be truly fine