Looking Back

I find myself
looking back at life.
A life yet to be defined,
searching in an
endless plain of
foreign consciences.
Am I truly alive,
or am I only a
representation of a
life that once was?
Searching, constantly
searching for wealth, power,
knowledge, recognition?
Is this the remedy to
the soul’s quiet hunger,
its constant cry for freedom,
from its earthly prison?
Yet a future awaits with
promise of discovery.
Discovery of a self
lost in the meandering
wonder of this world,
like the paths of necessity
of jungle streams who
yearn the sea.
 A world I have resigned
to never comprehend,
A life exalted by a
mindless society, fighting
continuously, like stray beasts,
the very nature
which gave it substance.