They tell me that from sorrow can come joy.
Assure me that from our suffering can come new hope.
It comes without notice, or its arrival is right on time.
It shapes our mind from the inside, and sometimes can't be seen.
Making us erratic, dragging us down to dark corners,
Behind doors that were closed to hide what was within.
Confronting our sadness, reasoning about the forces
That seem random in what they take and what they leave behind.
Trying to believe that there is a force for good,
Or at least a reason for us being here.
Trying to be happy with the way things are,
And knowing that this is all there is.
We can't do it all a second time.
We must fix the things that are here.
Help each other to make sense of it all.
Lend a shoulder when times are tough.
No way out or round, apart from the destruction of a soul.
But therein lies another question of which I have no answer.
I've looked in vain for the creator, but he was not at home.
But who says the creator is a "he" indeed.
With all life's complexity and subtleties,
Maybe the creator is not a man.
One thing I know is that religion is not our salvation.
I'm not saying that we should not strive for a spiritual way,
But what has religion ever done for us?
Oh yes, wars and hatred, divided countries.
The setting up of the high and mighty just to see them fall.
For they are human too.
We are all human, and we are in this life together with our sins.
Without enlightened views of the way that things are.
Without the light of knowing what I'm sure there are those who've seen.
Without these things, I must believe that there is something.
A belief that there is a reason why I am here,
Although for the moment it is lost on me.
There may be others for whom all of this is clear.
For them, I wish them well,
And may their God be with them.