a thinking thing

Born into the world with new, untouched eyes.
unsure of the world in front of you.
you cry.
you grow.
Is it always so new and foreign?
Do you adjust to a world that simply is
or do you mold it?

Must it be so simple
as nature versus nurture?

Who are we?

That movement with new eyes;
are they really new?
Are they programmed to see a certain way?
To think a certain way?
No two being the same in what they see.

I’m faced with a conflict
Are we slowly growing into who we’ve been destined to be
or are we in the process of becoming our own?

A steady unveiling or a handmade mold?

Who are you?

Are you a spitting image of your past?
Or are you just the mirror in front of you;
the reflection that looks back with the same eyes
who once were so unaccustomed to what is.

The unknown.

Does the world shape us or shave us?

Shape us.
A new person, our own, a finding, a becoming.

Shave us.
An ice sculpture with the ending masterpiece awaiting,
gradually chiseled away by the unknown hand.

I’ll never know.
You’ll never know.
We
will never know;
whoever we may be.