Our Existence

Fearful am I to the call of death To things that lead me down a road to insurrection, But still I hear a raged few Speaking the miracle of their existence No thought of voice when wisdom called From the solitude of its creation, Until a stillness that we perceived Is in the miracle of its existence I listen to the sound of a wayward wind When loud a thundered cracks, Until the season has gone too soon Leaving the miracle of its existence Mysterious the measure of a mountains crest When trees turn white in winter snow, Yet I’ll still wait for what’s to come And the miracle of my existence Uncertain I am to what lays ahead Along this road now wayward bound, Defined by the origin of things to come And the miracle of its existence