Reality to ponder

A small poem that does not make much sense. At least i am Conscious

Despite my age a soul to be

a soul to wander 

a soul to flee

a soul to wonder

of what to be

of what exactly makes me Me?

I ponder the knowledge that is yet to be shared

As my psyche simply glares

as it's somewhat in despair

as my cognitive stability wears

I grow weary at the thought

I sit and ponder 

what is yonder 

of what I know is reality 

what exactly is after I am me?

Humans of science lend me your ears

my conscience brings me to tears

it is constantly one of my greatest fears

A matter of spirituality?

Or one of dignity?

It is not too clear to me.

Of what came first? enlightenment or cognitive empathy?

Not a matter of simplicity

My questions go unanswered

woe to me 

to my conscious and to my sanity.

I sit and stare at my hands

twitching my fingers 

my only command

to regain 

what is at hand

on my mind 

Consciousness level 2

leaves me rather blue

I sit and ponder of others

do they strive for my same goal?

Am i alone in this role?

Do i sing a lonely song?

One of reality?

Or is all that is around me a fantasy?

I sit and ponder 

What is consciousness?

and what is the art of pondering?

Author's Note

Please share your thoughts in reviews I am curious to see what others think.

Reviews

[Quill]

whether you deem your writing as one which does not make much sense, would not matter much as i fancy how you make some lines rhyme, however can you prove you re conscious?