Question

These words from my lips, flow,
yet, only symbols of thought.
I'm not sure why I write,
only that I sense the need.
Poetry, they call it,
my soul labels it life.
The way sun-warmth sustains flowers,
words and sound, sustain me.
When I view the world,
I perceive only symbols to extreme.
Good, bad, right, wrong,
rare as wisdom, do I see inbetween.
So I express my vision,
and only when such, is done,
can I peacefully rest,
and for a moment, close my eyes.
To pray, and to hope,
that I pass God's test.

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