Why Should It Be?

I still remember when I was a child,

the world made no sense

but it worked just the same.

Now I am older and have more control

but the world is still confuses me.

What can I say?

I want to believe, that the reason lay outside of me.

But somewhere in the dark I can feel,

and it wants to light up like a spark.

But why, why won’t it grow, when I yearn for the fire to glow?

Is the past sitting still on the path that I’ve built?

Is there something that I’m supposed to know?

For wise, wise is the man, with his words in the palms of his hands.

Can I put into action these things in my head?

Can my hands do the things that I’ve said?

Or are they just dead?

No golden embers, no tears are remembered.

The sun is not coming, the moon is not here.

Lay in a course, without cart, without horse,

without mention of why you’re just hiding in fear.

This sad music could play all night long,

and no one would know what it means.

This bad habit could break all the ties,

and it makes me go back to my dreams.

But why, why should it be, that the only way out is to sleep?

Is the thought of the world too much for me to bear?

Is there something that I’m supposed to be?

For high, high is the ground,

far away from the world I am found.

If I stay here alone long enough without touch,

can I learn how to live with this crutch?

Do I deserve such?

Thursday, January 12, 2012