From the vistas of my alone place,
I survey the Creator’s mysterious trace,
And I find myself asking like an
Complete with a rambling diatribe…
Who are we?
What are we to be?
Show me, oh, show me, please?
Don’t mean to be a bother,
But I can’t help but wonder,
Some can just chill,
Take life’s innocuous pill,
But not I.
No, never I…
For, while the others clip
And skip on to absolute nowhere,
Here I must sit, dangling my feet from
A lonely mountaintop,
Seeking purpose in the caverns down there,
Sorrowing at people’s shrugging devil-may-care,
Raising my head to the star-pricked skies,
In silent tears demanding why…
And I can’t stop this sensation
That I’m always just waiting
In the never-ending
Vestibules of time,
Stuck pondering if the punishment
Truly fits the crime,
And if there’s really
Any reason or rhyme
To an aging prophet’s way.
I mean, perhaps, I could let the truth
Stay away another day,
Shoo the quizzical fly buzzing inside
And just leap forward to join the
Mighty pointless mudslide.
But, something within me simply
Cannot find a way to abide.
Something in me cannot hide the
Distaste for the foolish ride.
Something in me will never cease to
Be the one off to one side,
Mourning and outpouring
Life’s unspeakable cries…