I have too many questions for life,
But most just end with death’s sharp knife.
What if death’s the soul’s release,
And immortality is its lasting peace?
I have questions, many I won’t ask,
For fear that people would call me mad.
I don’t wish to be seen as crazy,
While heinous crimes leave the world hazy.
The wars in the Middle East, the sirens in the West,
The government’s lies—they never rest.
Destruction reigns where life should bloom,
And souls, in pain, must face their doom.
Perhaps I think too much, it’s true,
I saw a man without a roof.
How can this be fair, I wonder,
When others live in rooms of grandeur?
They build and build, we’re left to stare,
While nature fades, does no one care?
I don’t need more towers high,
I want the earth, the open sky.
The stars once shone for all to see,
But now a picture’s all they’ll be.
If we can stop this great diversion,
Maybe we’ll find a better version.
Our purpose isn’t wealth or gain,
But love, to heal, to ease the pain.
Yet here we fight with mortal rage,
Forgetting wisdom from age to age.
