What Does It Matter
The planets seem to fall
when I cry.
But it is only the wind drying out my contacts.
It seems so small,
my soul, sitting in silence
Just waiting for my justification
of existence. The clouds give me reason.
Still, though, it may be pointless.
Religion may be wrong.
Often times I hear them question it.
In a room speaking of
Michelangelo.
Should we wait? for a time?
When all the planets align?
or islands to move?
No, says the optimist!
Maybe says the pessimist.
As for me, it does not matter
anymore, like a lost teen.
(Doing drugs desperately)
Suicide or death, or even life.
Makes no difference.
Planets only seem to fall
when I cry.
Copyright © Paul Ruth | Year Posted 2010
|