Wandering through the forest darkness rests upon the trees,

Whispers of lives float by, carried by the breeze,

A wistful cry, a thankful sigh, fall down upon your knees,

Wondering, seeking, searching, for the one you have to please.

A quest that started close after birth, passed on down to you,

not knowing where to begin your search helpless thoughts invade,

your mind revolves now, thinking back upon this time now gone,

all the people you have met and passed yet none knew the charade.

Brought up to never question, only doing as your told,

was never any help in your hopeless quest for truth,

bolstered up by the confidence of men you hardly knew,

you turned your head too soon to watch the passing of your youth.

So as the snow desends, towards death you start to ease,

you think you failed in your quest, but you are so wrong,

in searching through your life to find the one you have to please,

your final thought is horror, he was with you all along.

                                                              Chad Atwell