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talking to myself

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Scattered on the wind


markdohle

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Why,

I often asked myself,

Are my insides in conflict?

Saying one thing, doing the opposite,

Acting strong in control,

Knowing I am weak and compelled.

I often feel like an undisciplined mob

Scattered on the wind,

Thoughts racing going nowhere.

Yet,

Who is it asking the question,

This observer calmly looking on.

Am I one or many?

When death comes

Is this observer the one who survives?

The riddle life deepens,

Knowing less each day,

Yet the roots of faith hold strong.

Embracing the darkness,

The light deepens,

That which eludes,

Hides,

Yet pursues,

Draws nearer.

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