Cast about by tides and whirpools
Of shouts and screams and echoes,
Deep down inside the heart, mind and soul.
Sounds of seemingly endless suffering,
Bursting forth from this bulging edifice.
Bruises on the body are nothing compared
To the tears and scars left by the raging bull
Of the inner need to connect, to find meaning
In the endless routine and monotony of life.
To find someone who understands,
To find something to do that really means something.
What are we left with,
After our life is shattered by the uncaring stares
Of passers-by and tension of a heated argument?
Is there love left in this little world,
Is there faith and hope
In the greater soul?
Where do we turn
When life grabs us by the neck
And drags us out
Of our sheltered habitat?
Who do we call
When no one seems to care,
No one hears our hints,
And no one sees us in our loneliness?
What do we have when it’s all over,
When the end comes around,
When the clock expires,
And we’re all alone?
And then, are we left?