Never ending Story

This is the neverending story,

Technically, every story is unending, but this is different. Its not a poem. Its an Idea, the idea of Tommy. Thomas.

I sit here disgruntled, confused, and amazed at these occurences that have driven me to write. I never write. Sure I could have become one, but I don’t find myself on that path. Im not a writer, I am a person. I am not a man or a child. I am. I am an upset to enigmatic pattern of reality, But the truest statement I know right now. Is that I, am. I exist, despite all this chaos and beauty I cannot find myself not existing.

These plants and trees, are proof of my nostalgia, where have these things come to be.

The story of a poison arrow still leads me to question, I am questions, I am the idea in my mind of ambition, and curiosity.

I was raised a man of everything, sin, and love. Raised by my wonderful mother, and a man. A true man, who I cannot comprehend how he is.

My father is much of a mystery to me that it actually made me cry. This man is somone I can dream to be. He’s awesome. (I feel that that word has lost some of its power in todays society.) I admire this man more than any other, Yet, I know nothing of him.

How am I to be great, when I know nothing.

Sure I can do calculus, physics, chemistry, roughly speak 4 languages, fix things, and solve almost any problem. He raised me, I am Him, but he has achieved. Hes there. And I cannot find words to describe how much I appreciate my father and my mother.

I was told that we are the ,century/ or children, we are the lost, I am lost, I strive for things I can attain. But reality proves otherwise, How am I to be, when I cannot. My efforts to connect are lost.

The continuous Idea of it lies me speechless, so I write. Is this world like these stars I see? Wonderful, but a dream, as Thoreau said, we go to nature to find meaning. And I am awestruck, by the idea of such things. The mathematics in the trees, the unsmooth calculus and fractals that encompass their growth, the physics of this water, the chemistry and biological cycles of these plants and animals. The physics of the astrological entities, that I can never reach but just watch. The rythmic beat of my heart to the sound of the gentle breeze of this wind.

The river that has become, when I sit and stare. Why must I have consciousness, to aspire to such great endevors of truth when the river flows softly by.

I cannot write, but it was at least an attempt.

Theres something about music.

Its wonderful. Of all the things in the world, some people found a new way to express emotion, its music. My brain on music, its an article maybe even in books. But it makes life worth while. No matter what goes on, there is music. There is always Music. It makes me cry.