by John Smallshaw
(London, England)
To stand before an empty sky,
a mind so full of questions
asking who and what and why and hope they're answered before I'm carried off to die,
and should these moments spent alone or with a presence there, that I have always known, be sufficient unto the man?
Another questioning of what the plan could be and who in universal majesty could feed me all of this in just one glimpsing of a lifetime?
The time is but a second guess at someone in their awesomeness who put the workings of a day, encapsulated and presented as a piece of cake.
Who but I could undertake to ask what man or God would deign to make this spinning globe,this many coloured robe in which we live,
and who but man or God could answer me in the beauty of the things I see and the Sun that always seems to be
shining.
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