Maybe we all exist
only to inflict pain
on the ones that we care
the most about, without
even being aware;
maybe we all exist
only to light the sky
and fill each other’s dreams.
Neither one seems true. From
these desert years, it seems
maybe we all exist
to each other only
when we chance through the sieve
which asks our heart for “yes”
where it can only give
“maybe.” We all exist
firstly to be ourselves;
willing to stand alone
and trust our heart’s desire
to plumb their own unknown.
Penguin Poems 