Each day begins with the great question?
Just what am I doing with my life?
Am I marching towards my destiny
or simply acknowledging that I'm alive?
Many would kill for what I have
Yet it only serves to bring me pain
I should be grateful for what I'm being given
Yet this gnawing dissatisfaction, I can’t explain
There is a void inside each one of us
through life’s journey one attempts to fill
The successful ones are deemed happy
while the rest will struggle until
In the hopes that great beyond
will fulfil what life never will
But death is only an illusion of states
Once crossed time stands still