A Reason to Be

When perspective dies what is left? When reality itself is shattered beyond repair and in myself there seems only despair, is a reason left there? When I must see that there only is what is, and life's being exists without something greater, where am I left to stand in this theatre? Shall cruel chance and fate command at my will? Is there something to grasp which can fulfill? Will the Raven quoth Nevermore? Will I let that become real? A fire low in my belly does roar, and reminds me of the fight in my core. But my fire and fear doth ever grow near and spit and hiss with a sneer. Fear made great from confusion, heart and mind are at war. My soul aches from the battle and yet hungers for more. For solace, for resolution, not easily found. I soldier on, having made it a habit. I choose to follow the little white rabbit. Wonder is confusion with merit. Can life then be wonderful? I wonder, can this experience then be wonderful? Can being here simply to see, be just enough reason to be? I think I might have to agree.