Riddle Me This
In the last twilight of our dreams waking moments drift as if upon the sands of time. Wandering the streets of fire we eventually come to a dead-end pass where the good guys and bad guys deserve their just reward. From one side of the fence to another the ping pong ball effortlessly glides and makes contact and as the sun rises over our domain thoughts come freely and usually with quite the gusto of will. As a ship coming to shore avoids the rocky morass of intelligent design we take pride in the fact of our own existence grateful in the knowledge that we can turn our backs to the wind and ignore completely the heritage from which we derive our being. There is no place like home.
Where ever and when ever we look and seek for the signs of our life, we find comfort and in so comforting ourselves we take solace in the fact that we are. But are we?
In the definition of our existence we come to be, placing judgement upon the sands of time and in due course finding a course for ourselves. Are we not the masters of our own universe?
Riddle me this.