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>