Is there a time to be grateful for life, when
so many long to be free of this cage; could
it be only when selfishness knows no boundary,
or when each season arrives, cleansing the
past of its hold on our dreams

Is it when I wish to be what I cannot see;
nothing more than honest cry; as a baby
would only know, without remorse or
foresight

Is it when I can only be what is real that
I wish to be, the unseen senses in silent
purpose and longing without pretense

Is it when I wish to be only in turbulent
flow; in horror and shame, because of
what I know to be true of this life

Is it when I wish to be in a constant state
of inspiration; walking with nature;
without conversation excepting my eyes

Is it when I wish to be sad without laughter
or lightness, raw nerved; expressed in
pained fullness

Is it when I wish to be of you, to mingle your
pain with my own; to see your heart and
it’s ugly stain of life; cracked and imperfect

Is it when I wish to be, alone in my walk; to
know what I am; dove or rock; kindness or
unfeeling;

Is it when I wish to be what cannot be touched
by another's hand; a living soul, a pure spirit
and nothing more, living in my own land
without fences or title

Is it when I wish to be involved, not entertained;
original in thought, unexplained; piercing your
skin not for a night but even after I am gone

Is it when I wish to be myself but open, full
of energy, honest in pure emotion; an actor yet
real; a poet yet grounded; an artist who believes
in despair as much as in hope

Is there a time to be grateful for life, when I
can thank God no matter how I long for love;
no matter that the life of my father is over; no
matter that the world does not care for my
questions or my pain; tell me is there a time?