How often you’ve been asked that question?
The one that tortures, fawns or fears,
That opens heart and seeks confession,
Or mutely harries your ears.
“Why am I here for, what’s the purpose?
How can I live not knowing why?”
We seek for guiding hand, a compass
A beacon light in somber lies.
In quest of truth we turn religious
And face away, not finding it.
Whoever, virtuous or vicious,
We’re up to find it underneath.
What’s over life, will greet us kindly
And you’ll stand or humbly fall
And you’ll reveal it frankly, roundly -
The human nature of your soul:
“Why did you send me there, I ask you,
And let me die with no reply?”
So That will utter: If I’d knew it.
You were, just for the knowing why…
Why?
© Copyright: Аннисель Гримман, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112052801137
Свидетельство о публикации №112052801137
Рецензии