Colin F. Jones

CONUNDRUM

If we are born to die my friend
Then why be born at all
It seems to me a pointless trend
To rise that we may fall
We are upon the Earth you know
But tiny specks of dust
That vanish in the afterglow
Of all we love and trust
Yet surely there is purpose here
That we but live to die
Though all our lives we dying fear
Without us knowing why
It seems that here faith is born
That we will live again
For death repairs the lame and torn
And takes away the pain