Where were you when the world was made?
A glint in your father's eye?
Where were you when the foundations were laid?
When stars and comets passed by?
Who were you when the mysteries were gods?
What reasons caused you to bow?
Which way do you lean when the tides ebb and flow?
Do you ponder the why and the how?
Why do you breathe and for how long will it last?
Have you left any marks in the stone?
Are you words like whispers of power and wind?
Are they etched in the book by the throne?
The painter will use your colors of choice.
Pigments full of water and blood.
But the image is set, forever in voice.
Just a grain of sand in the flood.
Do you live on the edge of your finger tips?
Do you plan each step in the storm?
Do you swing or sway in the grasp of their grips?
Do you need them to maintain your form?
Who are you?