© Charles H Keys, 2011. All Rights Reserved
Talking anxiously to myself,
Thoughts fresh of the new,
Some deliberate, others not,
Thoughts old and forgotten,
Mostly familiar or so it appears.
Still wondering why
Am I here? Or maybe not.
Is not the grass still green?
And the snow ... white and cold,
Where is this said?
What awaits me down the road?
Empty fascinations with token vague memories of yore
Maybe forever, so meaninglessly insignificant
Here am I for what?
There has to be God or
Why else can I be,
If not to taste fresh air
To soar as an eagle - free, unattached into wherever,
Alone, asphyxiated from man-made constraints.
The aroma of fresh baked bread,
Life awakened life to be lived
The beauty of it all, so green and blue
Warm and cool sunned by our creator
Life lived inside and out.
I thirst for inner quiescence,
Beyond the realm of the mundane and the lost,
Far from the useless and
... the hurt from the heartless, of so many so often,
A universe of everything that is ... in harmony.
A Pauper I am, a Prince I am not, tethered,
Mesmerized in the day-to-day nothingness,
Unsatisfied with the uneventful
I am here, pleading for answers
Of life’s painful purposeful ignorance of each other.