Answer:
It is something you will never see again.
It goes up and down the stairs without moving.
What is used by man, tossed by trees, everywhere but unseen?
I cannot be felt, seen or touched; Yet I can be found in everybody; My existence is always in debate; Yet there is a style of music named after me.
Born in the past, but only lives in the present. Sometimes false, always personal.
I touch the Earth, I touch the sky, but if I touch you, you’ll likely die. What am I?