The Thorny Questions
How many times
have I asked myself
the question that can never
be answered
as if an answer could
make rain in an arid desert
or could end the maroon of an outcast?
How many voices whisper
their opinions
how many times
have I turned when I heard
my name?
The cars pile up and then
they scratch the surface
the tables turn then
wax the moon's wane
but in the end there are no cars
no moon or tables
just the thorny questions
of fate and circumstance
weaving the threads
of our brightest days
from the fears
of our darkest nights
Linked to Poetry Pantry @ Poets United</a>