Justice isn't justice, it just is..

Your entire body shakes when you laugh, as if your sense of humour was built on a fault line,
And the coast of your heart falls into the ocean of yourself, and I am left looking for this Atlantis.
Left looking for this place that exists in stories told by old men who were there when mathematics assured them their willingness to believe was greater than their determination to dismiss.
I'm left looking for Atlantis. Regardless of the scientists that insist my efforts would be better spent unearthing clues to where the wild things went.
Try as it might, faith can't put a dent in fact. So we must settle for watching science reenact the world. As if the universe is curled around this globe, and if we consider the universe is never ending, then we are not even a microbe. We are like a death threat from a pacifist, we're nothing. But the Heisenberg uncertainty principle states that "nothing is fo shizzle".
And the interesting thing about that is it ensures the principle itself can't even be a fact.
But we still act as if this time, we can see the forest through the trees.
Regardless of the soft wood lumber levees, we fall in line like reforested pine.
Its all straight rows where everything grows a little less wild and a little more hum drum ho hum, we come from the mentality that rarely sees the horror in symmetry, or the beauty in non-conformity.
We insist that for us, everything must be clear cut. But what about philosophy?
What about the tree that fell in the forest that no one was around to hear, its a little less clear, and a little more deep. Deep like, if Oprah Winfrey farts in a bathtub and no bubbles come to the surface, is there an alternate universe where the price of gas is cheap? Possible, but we can't prove it.. Anymore than we can prove that light can move fast enough to stop a monster hiding in a closet. We deposit our faith in fear, and clear our minds to the possibility that maybe we as adults secretly sometimes still get scared of the dark.
Things that go bump in the night.
And I can't prove that I've ever loved anyone, but despite the smoking and the overweight body I want to grow old with you.
Go through muscle and joint pains to the point where every time it rains we can feel it in our knees. Get arthritis so bad that every time we move we sound like two bowls of Rice Krispies.
We're all Snap, Crackle, and Pop.
But we still take the time to stop, and take the time. I'm looking for Atlantis.
Letting faith turn this fiction into fact, as if I've dragged this missing continent for decades and all I know so far is it's somewhere underwater.
I'm looking for clues in those blurry photo's of UFOs and thinking, if aliens are so smart, why don't they start making their spaceships look like airplanes?
That way we would just point to the sky and say "An Airplane, how commonplace. And not at all suspect."
We are all shipwrecked on this idea that everything has to be explained. But maybe we just need to believe that lemmings jump off of cliffs to prove that they love us. And sure, that sacrifice is as empty as the box of condoms politicians used when they thought they could fuck us.
But its nice to believe that somebody up there cares enough to plummet onto jagged, backbreaking rocks in an attempt to tell us, we're beautiful. Tell us that as far as life goes, our fingerprints are like snowflakes. We leave them on everything but they melt in the time it takes to touch someones tongue, but if we're lucky, maybe we're remembered along with the sunken cities of a lost continent.
This is to each child who is a monument to the ones who came before.
Maybe the best we can hope for is that those we leave behind will find comfort in knowing that we're born out of love, and not science. That biology explains the how, but love explains the why.
So in the event of our death we hereby bequeath all of these words to you.
And they are only meant to say uncertainty is something everyone goes through. And there is not much in the way of proof, but believe me, we loved you.
We held our breaths for your first step, your first word.
We laughed when it finally occurred to you, lemons are sour...
This is for every time love becomes the finest minute in the darkest hour.
This is for those scouring the streets wondering where the wild things went, for the believers who lent us their madness. This is for everyone we miss.
And this is for the children who are lost. Sadness is nothing more than the cost of being able to smile once in a while.
And grief is the trial we stand to offer evidence that your fingerprints were left on our hearts, and our skin. And in terms of proof, love can be demonstrated in giving.
Our lives consist of the efforts we give in swimming towards a lost continent, where you are rumoured to be living.