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
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