I feel that I am rhetorical.
I'm a question meant to be answered through not being told the answer. I'm not quite sure what I'm a question of. "The Ultimate Question of Life and Everything" as addressed by The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy? Or maybe just how many steps does a life form of these standards take? Regardless it's a rhetorical one. If someone were to tell me the answer to the question I pose and I ask then there would be no point in asking it but it must be asked. I must be here and exist and question it to question why I'm here at all. If I'm told then it's pointless. I am a rhetoric little question. My presence is pointless when I'm answered. So I'll keep asking. Keep being ignored. Keep wondering. Keep being rhetoric.
This concept has spun around my head for awhile but I haven't been sure how to address or ask about it. Ironic, huh?
YOU ARE READING
We as Humans
PoetryGolden threads from a dirt human. Poetry and philosophy that I write for me and share for you. (Cover art by Gabriel Levesque/@oskadesign)
