The Scribble's Purpose

Wonder, wonder, wonder. Is this the one sight? When looking at the black blue of falling night Or upon the sun’s brilliant breaking light? Wonder, wonder, wonder. Is all flavored so? Whether exquisite cuisine, Italiano Or simple apple of radiant red glow? Wonder, wonder, wonder. Is this alone what is heard? From the noise of soft electronic purr To the powerful orchestra and its reverb? Wonder, wonder, wonder. Is this the one aroma alone? The smell of the country, its own song To the fragrance of cooking in one’s own home. Wonder, wonder, wonder. Is this all that is felt? The softness of the mink, his pelt To the suffering of possible pains dealt. No, nay, again, not at all. Same for all is the reality. But I want to tell what it looks like to me. I know that I know I see no differently. Objective perspective; true reality. I will to describe what is already known. But words cannot tell what is clearly shown. No, words cannot describe the wonders of this life, our own. I write as I write in hopes numbered one. The dream is that I may do justice some. Justice to the beauty that is life, With all the victories, pains, and strife. I write as I write to maybe, possibly, if only just once Paint the world with words and show its brilliance