Everlasting

Were life an everlasting,

if seasons never came,

if the sky would fall to earth,

the people are brittle and lame.

When angels call on prophets,

heralding their birth,

would a saviour really save us,

or be a sense of mirth.

If life were always joyful,

always blissful and in peace,

never would we ask for more,

learn more,

or want,

or strive,

we would be un-human,

we would be a living dead.

We would never write a poem,

to show the beauty we see,

our eyes searching for a truth,

our minds would not be free.

The End

11 comments about this poem Feed