Is what I see reality or just product of thought?
When I buy I product is it me who’s truly bought?
I dwell in hell inside my shell where nothing’s crystal clear
If everything is matter does it matter why I’m here?

Should I go to work today? And is there any point?
Sure I could slave right to the grave but what I crave's a joint
This life at best it seems to test my senses and my soul
Must I strive to be alive? To reach some sort of goal?

Is there a god? And if there is then does he care at all?
For who would glance this circumstance and watch whilst people fall?
Does he live beyond the clouds as many do obsess?
Or is he found within ourselves as a shared consciousness?

These questions that I ask, will they be answered in due coarse?
Will I find that peace of mind to save me from remorse?
Will accept that it is so, that I may never know?
Or will I die just wondering why the answers failed to show?

© Martin James Powell 2008


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