The future of life keeps getting shorter.
I know I must seem like a dooms day reporter.
But sometimes news ain't bad.
It just depends on if you're sad.
You see I'm to the point that I don't care.
I've lived too long, no one to share.
And I truly don't understand.
My life that's guided by his hand.
Truly like Job, nobody knows.
What's going on with ghostly foes.
The inhumanity we see.
We're never sure of what's to be.
No rhyme or reason to the pain.
What's going on's another plane.
No counsel's worth a single dime.
The only answer will come with time.
Copyright © robert johnson | Year Posted 2016