Am I alone in thinking these things?
My imagination stirred not shaken
Is it just a feature of disintegration?
Do I run and hide or simply wait
On the inevitable.
Is action now too little too late?
And simply horrendously regrettable?
How will I know right from wrong?
How do I tell true poetry from a lyrical song?
What happens when we die?
Why are we even born?
Why are people so brutally cruel?
Why do little children suffer?
Why do the words that I utter
Fail to find a mark?
Is anyone really listening?
Does anyone really care?
Is anyone out there?
Or am I all there is
Alone
Forlorn
And ultimately
forgotten.
