Is it a devotion to love?,
Is it the stuttering way of the tides?,
Is it that resonance of the weeping Sky?,
Or the strings of yearning plundered by lust?,
That oft fret us of a perpetual brooding call of death,
One that is as much of a mystery as it is known,
The trees left to stand tall for man,
who shall have his back fail him over eternity,
The sand who's grains shall never be acknowledged by man or god,
Yet they stay,
Yet it blooms,
Is life a reward or a test?,
Is it the result of former ill crimes at best,
For our nature thrives in inequality, injustice,
Like a sinner,
Like a criminal,
We comply to our nature Our nature to love has proved futile.
Although it has kept us sane.