much ado about thinking

What does it mean to make one happy,
what does it feel like to be made happy?

How would you love someone,
how would you be loved by someone?

Why can you make one sad,
why can others make us sad?

When would we hate someone,
and when would that someone hate us?

To every question,
there is an answer,
but to every answer,
there's another question.

If all these questions come and go,
with all their answers in tow,
then why need be we ask these questions?

In truth we search for answers,
to problems we know not,
thinking deeper and deeper still,
we sink lower and lower in,
into the darkness.

It is human it seems to yearn the light,
especially in the darkness,
the darkness we so often enfold ourselves in,
even if it is not of choice,
or by reason,
but in darkness we reside,
and yet in darkness we are afraid.

Such confusion in my thoughts,
of questions and answers,
darkness and light,
love and hate,
happiness and sadness...
I think too much, surely.