Nosy Mortal Monologue
Why is our living just part of our dying
and why must our failures be part of our trying?
Who made up this game and who’s throwing the dice?
Why do we play on, no matter the price?
How can men worship this ultimate gamesman
who gives us our faults and then unfairly blames man
for acting the way he’s created to be?
Why aren’t we given mind power to see
how something so seemingly unfair might tend
to all turn for the best when it comes to the end?
Could it be that our dying is part of our living?
That somehow our getting is tied to our giving?
Does Karma exist? Does Heaven or Hell?
Does the Universe know, and will it ever tell?
A question poem for dVerse Poets