The need to feel

Is it this bitter wind,
That blows in from the south,
That strips our skin and flesh,
Eats our hearts, livers, lungs
Or is it only sensation?

Do worms feast upon us, as we writhe?
Or is it just us, pretending we feel them?
Is there truth to pain,
Or do we make our own?

Is it joy that brings sunshine to us?
Or does the sun rise first?
And if the sun rises first,
Why feel joy at all?

Is it loneliness that shakes us?
Or is just that we need people to work?
And if we aren't really lonely,
Why do we shake?

Do we lust because we like to?
Or do we lust because not to means death?
Are we driven by desire?
or are we driven by species wide desire for preservation?

Are we greatest of apes,
Gods of our world?
Or are we wooden puppets, dancing on string?