The minds of planet Altra
I wrote this poem like when I was 14 I had quite an imagination back then, still do, but it's now tempered a bit. This is about the mindset of a lone feminine being (My character named "Via")on my planet, Altra, home to my own little world! She is of a new race, the only one of her kind, but the mindset applies to all the native races on my planet. I'll have a separate story all about the planet if you want, just ask meh! So this poem illustrates the common mindset of the native species on Altra regarding their creation. Due to my hate of religion and the rites and BS associated with them, this planet has no religion or overall god(s) so this leaves the method of their creation a great mystery to them, as the Zora seem to not exist on the planet, leaving the occupants with only speculation. This poem reflects that speculation. And remember, I wrote this like 7 years ago, don't be too harsh on meh!
The creature stood in the field, no emotions, yet all so many there was no expression to express. Gazing out across the field of mountains, the mountain of fields, hoping to find what her emotion was. Terror? Joy? Rage? Peace? There were so many, of every kind they all blended into nothing, solid grey. Along with thousands of others around the planet, she asked,
"Why do I exist? What is the purpose of my life? Why are there others exactly like me, yet so totally different? Is it all connected? Is it all separate? Why do we all wonder the same thing? Why do we exist?"
All the thousands of others asked this in unison, but no answer comes. Even the wisest of all time knew not the purpose of life, only to live it to the fullest. But how do you do this? How? Do you enjoy the pleasures of this life, do you create, do you destroy, do you express, do you hide? Do you live with the others? Yourself? You look at your hand seeing it move, seeing it live, yet you can't imagine it being a part of you. Just some fleshy, moving muscles is all that it is. So why is it living? Because it moves? Because it's a part of you? What makes you living? Is it thought? The mind? The imagination? What separates us from the tiniest bug? It is living. We are living. What is the difference?
What is death? Is it another form of living? Is it the loss of thought? What is the soul? Is it some part of us that is in another dimension, one of emotions and personality? What are dreams? Are they sights into this odd dimension? Are they created by our thoughts? What are emotions? Is it complex synapses in the brain? Is it a part of life? Can life be explained in any way? Thousands of others live and exist as much as you do. Do they have the same emotions as you? Do they have dreams, are they living, too? Why do so many live, and know all too well your emotions? Do they live like you? Is their hand living as well? Or is it a complex piece of flesh attached to them? Or is it an arm, a living, dying, felling arm? The creature stares at her arm, seeing but not seeing, feeling but not feeling.
"Why do I, you, we, they, exist? Why is there life? Is it a gift? A curse? A test for another form of life, or the final ending? Is there life beyond death? Is there life?"
I have a text document somewhere with my stories in it, Hopefully I'll be able to copy and paste, cause typing this out was annoying.
Next might be my story, 'Dragon Kiss', if I can find it.
Lemme know what you think of my old poem.