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.
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