Miss Someone, tell me if you can
If you're well worth the trouble?
Will you make me a happy man,
Or will you burst my bubble?
It's strange how sunshine plays its tricks of mood:
I needn't leave my room to take its balm.
Grey Midwest skies entice a soul to brood;
The skies of San Diego soothe and calm.
Our questions make our lives, it seems:
Who am I? Am I doing well?
What do I want? What are my dreams?
Where am I bound? Do tell.
Without commitment, what is there to do?
What feels right at the moment, or is fated
To bring about survival. Thus, it's true
So many of our dreams are dissipated.
Your gods mean little to me, or your devils;
The whole damn system smells of hokus-pokus.
My intellect finds fault on many levels;
How can we still believe these threadbare jokers?
George Chadderdon © 1997