There are times
When I consider
The meaning of it all,
The fact is although
6'2",
In reality
I'm incredibly small.
Why was I put here?
Why was I made?
Like an ant
Running in circles
Or a single grass blade.
I've existed
And breathed the air
For decades and a few year,
I've loved, lived and laughed
Shed many a tear.
Heard so many tales
As different heads spoke,
Voices of wisdom
People I've respected
And some I've wanted to choke.
I suppose its advancement
To fly planes in the sky,
To take us to nice places
And broaden our horizons
Before we all die.
We have barbaric beheadings
In the name of religion
And the threats of a tyrant, Putin,
What is the meaning of it?
Where do we begin?
On the one hand
We discover cures
To treat life threatening disease,
And the other holds a gun
And forces people to their knees.
I'm sick of this planet
And its selfish fools
So I await the makers call,
Because if death and destruction
Is the meaning
I don't want part of it.... At all.
Phil Hall September 2014
Phil - Have just found this - I am the PCC Secretary and Magazine Editor at St. Edburgha's I was delighted to see the poem about the Rose & The Pomegranate
ReplyDeleteand wondered if I could have permission to reproduce it in the Magazine accredited to you of course. You can leave a message on the church answer machine 783 4736 or email me on stedburghaoffice@btconnnect.com Thanks Stephen Fraser