Why do people write about stars?
I've thought for a while now,
And wondered about the reason-
For staring up in wonder,
At burning dead things,
That will never see us.
Why do people throw pennies in wells?
When every coin should be saved?
When their own children go hungry,
And their mouths have long been dried of any taste.
Why do people pick flowers?
Don't they know a life is dying in their hands?
The moment the cord is cut from the ground,
There it goes.
The flower is dead.
I've wondered it for a while.
Why we do actions that have no hope.
Why we look at stars, throw our coins, pick our flowers-
Why we sing when doing back-breaking work.
Why we smile when pain invades our thoughts.
Maybe I will never find the reason for why.
Maybe there is none.
My thoughts say 'adaptation'.
The dark scared us, so we adjusted to look at it with love.
The coins were useless anyway- they never could feed our souls.
The flowers would pass eventually.
So we adjusted to fit into the world.
Instead of seeing the despair that hid underneath-
We took in what comfort we could find,
What protection of love we could seek.