It all boils down to this:
The days are gone to reminisce,
amidst the fuss and bustle
in the city streets,
in the city streets,
selling seeds, threading beads
and spreading wheat
and spreading wheat
alone sits the person
in the corner seat.
in the corner seat.
Not eating not talking
not watching others go by
not watching others go by
but silently conversing
with an inward sigh,
the persistent "why?"
with an inward sigh,
the persistent "why?"
How did I...? Who would deny...?
They didn't even try...!
They didn't even try...!
Yet no one is there with the answers,
so questions spread like cancer
and to everyone else what
does it matter?
does it matter?
But as if, stuck on repeat
the same old scene just won't delete
the same old scene just won't delete
because beneath the grief
is a single wish, "If only if...
I could just forget".
So time stands still
as the hourglass drains,
as the hourglass drains,
games of blame stain with pain,
and it's the journey
traveled alone.
and it's the journey
traveled alone.
Unknown is the hope
of ever leaving the maze,
of ever leaving the maze,
because everyday wanders
into a different way.
into a different way.
Not letting one up for air to breathe
the mind finds no relief but only deeper toil,
so it all boils down to this...
Will anyone believe in Jesus?
He said indeed,"it is finished".
Jn.19:30/Phil.3:13
(Inspired by a conversation I had with an
elderly woman who had spent the majority of
her life trying to understand why so many
tragic things happened to her)
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