As I walk

This brambled path

I pick the thorns from my limbs

Alas, there is always another sting

 

Some are roses

Some are thorns

Yet, once. weren’t we all

The same acorn?

 

 

Somewhere, along the line

Something happened

Was it nurture, or the Divine?

 

Why are we all so different -

If technically, we are all the same?

How is it we all fit into a triangle

But rarely are we squared?

 

If I should walk this mortal coil

A hundred years or more

I don’t think I will ever fit

Or understand this human toil

 

Where war mongers tread

Peacemakers only dread

The empaths heart sink -

Like lead

 

Light workers do their best to heal

Lords of darkness

Fail to feel

 

Is any of this real?

We are all ‘I’

And we will always be

Until we die

 

So, why?

 

C.K. 22