We ask ourselves;
‘Why?’
That ‘life was made to die’,

But if we continue to ponder,
We turn grim,
And somber.

For this question is up to us.
A creation of an answer,
One can trust.

As one can love,
And finally adjust.

Back to the start we go,
Life is a constant flow,
Of ups and downs,
Smiles and frowns,
To all the memories
we know.

Back to the start,
We say
As we become
lost and astray,
Tired and drained,
At the tasks thrown at us today.
Or perhaps day one
For some,
Feeling less than alive,
We sink and thrive,
All at the same time.

What a strange way to survive.

Back to that feeling,
We pray,
That it goes away
one day.
Or perhaps not,
As we sink and rot,
In the wounds and woes
Life has thrown and tossed,
To make us feel lost,
And truly unknown.

Or perhaps we are content
In life as it is now.
How wonderful it would be
For all to feel the same,
The relaxing happiness
That we strive for each day.
We pray and fret,
And live to forget
Of the thoughts that keep us
locked in
And afraid.

But as humans we grow,
Live through the flow,
Of light and darkness,
For the awaiting goal.
To finally feel at home,
Content with the flow,
Of constant changes
To our mind and soul.
But we live and thrive,
Breathe and survive,

For what a strange way we live in this life.

She's an amazing woman,
If only she thought similiary
Of me.

I fully hate you.
No questions to my detest.
Why am I here though?

I am holding myself accountable
For now, but not always
There's times when I should have
been the first to say I'm sorry
Of course we all have those times.
We must all have those times.
To err, to caution, to be human
Questioning if you said or did
What was right, most kind
The best possible actions
Achieving the most perfect outcome

But I cannot hold myself hostage
To reckoning with perfection
Nor can anyone else reasonably
****** me upon such a pedestal
and expect me to preform
my best, most absolute
unconditional, unequivocal
gestures of good faith
If they have not made themselves
Stand tall in such high places
Responsibly bearing the weight
Of being incorruptible to errors


I allow myself to look within
And search for the answers
As to why there's always this desire
To be something more than
The accumulation of cells and dust
That surrounds my innermost self
It seems like finding answers
Will have to start with asking questions
As to why I am the way I am
Right here in the now.

If I can shape myself into anything,
more than or less than
what I already am right now
How can I ever truly be myself?
How to begin knowing myself
If it was never really clear as to
what my self was to begin with?
Where is the source of who I am?
What I am? How I am, and why?
What happens if I stripped away
All that I am and put the pieces
back together in a different way?
Would I become someone else,
or something else entirely?

I have always wondered
If wondering will be good enough
In search of the answers
In search of the miraculous
An inner earth within the earth
which I heard only
existed in pages of a book
Written in the sand
A very long time ago

If you looked into yourself
and saw a mirror reflecting
the parts of other people
you either hated or loved,
Could you continue to look
at yourself when others called on you
and honestly say to them,
"Look, I am what I've become"?

How sweet is our time together
falling softly into violin strings
up into sky on mockingbird wings
across piano keys of white and black
where there is nothing I lack
and every moment stretches
across horizons blue and gold
no matter how battered and old
my body of bones and flesh
every minute green and full and fresh.

Now heaven does not seem so
close, never singing, yet—
I'm putting will to whetstone
while building on regret.

You came down like a gleaming sunbeam
One that gave me hope
I stared at the You the whole day
Waiting for Your call

Each time it turned a different hue
I grew sicklier and starved
Step by step I was edging
Closer to the cliff

You left me hanging
But also scared that
You would stamp on my hand
And leave me to my misery

Surely you won't dare?

But now retrospectively I see
Clearer than any brighter day
How things turn out to be
And I fall down the pit to eternity

Now I catch the words as they fall
Out from my mind into these
Words that I cannot appreciate
Until it is all over

Do you, too, like to stare at the moon,
chandeliers and *** lights?
when your eyes feel
like they belong to a sculpture
stuck in place, tunnel vision
Do you, too, make moonlight out of street lamps,
and use dreams to feed the craving
of meaningful existence?