I sometimes wonder,

At the pointlessness of it all,

But wondering makes for faraway minds,

And I'm having to go back, back,

Back to the present.


Sitting, watching the trees,

And the leaves fall,

And I'm wondering,

Is that me sometimes,

Falling, falling,

No knowing what or when or if I'm hitting,

But trusting the cycle of life.

And if,

We fall,

How to know what to hit?

Do we hit what we want to,

What we need to,

What is the hardest to hit,

Or careen off course,

Because we are so lost in it all?

Whenever we hit,

And wherever, whatever, if we hit,

There is always that fear,

Deep down inside,

Tearing apart, apart,

That we will regret the fall we took.

But fear is just in our minds,

And can be overcome,

We convince ourselves,

That the fall was a course of life,

One of many,

And we couldn't change it anyway.

All this,

The pointlessness of it all, the wonderings,

Wonderings, wonderings,

In my faraway mind.