Poetry

If all we are, see or may deem to be
is smashed like drops of sand on the beach
while in nothing there is constancy,
continually for something more we reach.
where we play but trifle roles that are set,
if all of life is just but on a stage
then all things are just on chance a mere bet,
where destiny strikes with a sudden rage,
then for survival man does a war wage.

If to survive man does a war wage,
then any happiness is swept away,
man yearns for the divine in every age
while actually nothing is set to stay,
while we are just actors in a kind of dream
but I know and feel life is more than this,
that things come to much more than they do seem,
where we find meaning in the way life is,
with something more in every sweet kiss

If there is something more in a sweet kiss
than chemistry and passionate feeling,
if we find happiness in human bliss,
are not set to be constant away reeling,
then somehow something lives on, we are save,
even if but mere chance still does insist,
save from oblivion’s decimating wave,
even if we see nothing, as a atheist,
as in the hand of God man does exist.

[Reference: “A dream within a dream” by Edgar Allan Poe.]