The-Questions-Of-Poet

With a pen and copy, I ponder How dost thou solve thine blunder? Is thy universe just an empty shell? Nothing, but a meaningless hell? I wonder what crossing the ocean might feel. If crossing the bar might heal, the waves that drift me away, for when I am gay. Why must there be dusk? After the dawn. The darkness must've struck, so that the light is gone. I'm just a puny drifter, going from one place to another. May I soon find rest, in his company, oh brother.