Unsplash photo by Greg Rakozy

No Title

No title for this crooked life. No note was sent along.

We’re put onto this little ball, let’s pretend that we belong

Everyone side by side, and totally on their own

We try to make our life a life, but loose it at the shore

We swap into another skin, and swim with what’s not ours

We do all sorts of wicked things to find ourselves within

And when our life is at end, will God recognize what he made?

We put down words everywhere, and hope that some will see

“Fill my lungs with blood and earth, return me please to Him”

Hopeless times are seconds short, pick up what’s yet not dead

Life is life and singular, but is there more to be?

Sometimes this ball rolls way to fast, and were balancing on one foot

Half of all will be in light, and half will not even see

To live untouched, unharmed not scared, maybe just let it be?

Maybe the meaning of our life is exactly what it is. To live life as us.

Half awake, half asleep.



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