am I something?

Pouring through the window panes,
the light that doth eb and flow
into caloused hands,
across that deep emptiness;
uncomprehendable vastness;
Secrets of moments past hidden inside
an effulgent glow.

That long lost empty stretch of time;
witnessed and comprehended,
the winding path lays behind me;
unfurls and bends before me;
Into shadowed silluoettes in the distance.
They call out through the emptiness,
its enchanting melody,
telling me of that great mystery.

Inventions,
fabrications,
distortions of the mind.
These falible perceptions,
wavering oscillations,
in a world of unknowns;
a world that can never be shown;
with these hardened hands,
this inferior mind;
Perhaps with time.

Mere probabilities,
unfathomable entities,
that are nothing,
yet somehow they are me;
so what am I?
I think...
am I something?