(no subject)
"just remember, it all happens for a reason"
his words resonnating in my head
"i remember" whispers i
what good is a reason
if it isn't revealed?
comfort in the sake of knowing...
knowing it had reason?
even if it never be discovered?
what is this reason you speak of?
may i know?
may i ever find out?
what comfort is there in an unknown reason?
what comfort is there in the unknown?
"someday you'll see the big picture"
his voice echoing in my head
"i see the picture" i close my eyes
but only the pencil lines are visible
my dear, there isn't one drop of paint
shall i confide in the hopes there will be a painting?
or will it remain an aging draft?
what comfort is there in unfinished art
what joy in a practically blank canvas
if and when it is completed...
will i get to see it?
hang it on my wall?
next to the jar of reason on my nightstand?
or do we confide in air
putting promise in what isn't there...
can we stop blaming reason & life. mother nature & fate. and start crediting god?