This Life Is Perfect

I am told I have what is a perfect life One that eats, drinks and is filled with a love that is rife I will grow to make a woman who is beautiful and a loving wife But why is it in my heart I sense am being stabbed and pained by a sharp knife? Why is it, it stays and grows this pain? Why is it, it starts fro the tip of my toes all the way up to my brain? Why is it, I cannot move even when my hands are not chained? Why is it, the Goosebumps continue to grow long after the going of the rain? I am told I have what is a perfect life But why am I not free? Why do I feel like a lost bee? Why do I feel like I disagree more than I agree? And when I do disagree, around me is a feeling that is not glee? I am told I have what is a perfect life But look at me, look at me I am a soul that is lost I tried, with those lines over there to cross But as my body crossed, my soul was lost it tried, it tried to cross, but in the process the cold sent it into a frost it couldn’t run and could cross those lines its sitting in a frost, in pain, disagreeing you see, my life, is asking what is it about life that is perfect? shamsa @ www.vikombeviwilivyakahawa.wordpress.com