Questions

Is it love, or is it imagination?
A question I ponder in my heart,
while green leaves whisper stories of old
and the wind whistles a lively tune

Do I yearn for the Truth or the ideal?
As I walk down winding paths,
and climb craggy hills hiding valleys of old.

If I'm meant to be here, why do I long for there?
As time quickly travels networks in the sky,
leaving towering ruins in its wake;
making that which was fresh now old.

Still I wander as I roam
knowing that yet time will unfold
answers to pondering questions in my mind,
bringing peace to an endless rhyme.