The pit is never lasting
for it does not exist
the darkness doesn't close
the inhabitants do persist
cold and dreary climate
forced down their throats
thrown up to the top
to taste the tickle
that they think will
topple over like the
thickness of their coats
to keep out of the cold
won't stop now the walls do close
bodies piled down
don't mind the wind blow
chilled to their bones
a rock in the sand
a stain in the stones
perched at the top of a mountain
two tablets crossed and died
to meet the expectations
of a God who cried
to pour on his constituents
for not repeating
the pattern laid down in His eyes; crossed
a path that we must follow but now are lost
guidance in a book that was written by men
pardon me for asking or contemplating then
the meaning of our existence
did he create us or us create him
If you are real please
Create Me Again