Wondering,
Constantly dreaming.
Of other places,
other realities,
Other than my own.
Thinking,
always questioning the reason I am here.
Of all places,
to be put here.
Or was it a joke,
a misplaced thought,
if thoughts can create,
if thoughts can become real.
Was it a mistake?
Not my creation,
but where I was left
to carry out my existence.
And to always be dreaming,
to always be wondering,
if I am where I am suppose to be.
Or if . . .
Because of a misplaced thought,
a breach in concentration,
I was sent to the wrong place,
the wrong time,
the wrong reality.
To always be wondering,
Thinking,
Always questioning.
