The Many Why's

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  • Nature
  • ,
  • Life

    The Many Why's

    The storm had passed but left hundreds of deads,
    The hills rolled down to bury lives and properties;
    A sea of muddy water the once dry lands are now flooded
    Greenfields no more, continued rains ravaged the earth.

    The young looked up and tried to comprehend,
    The weak showed tiredness on his old and wrinkled face;
    Wanting to ask these questions on his head
    Trembling fear inside confused his mind instead.

    Why do these souls seem aimlessly exist?
    Why does the One up there allow these tragedies?
    Is there a Mighty hand who ruled the earth?
    Is there an ear that listens to our cries and pleads? 

    Even before he could ask all his other why's,
    Deep in his heart he heard the clear reply;
    People abused the earth, that's why.
    He is a victim of the many sinful ways of man.

    It was not God who cut the sturdy trees,
    He didn't flatten hills, abuse the seas;
    He didn't give us mountains of waste to see,
    Didn't cause the sweeping blow of nature's fury.

    Man's greed and unrelenting foolish deeds,
    His sinful pleasure to get more riches from the earth;
    His dissatisfaction and excessiveness
    Material gains and his unending wastes.

    These are the answers to the countless why's,
    Evil people give tragic occurences to other men,
    Unless they see the light and act as one 
    Saving the world would be too late and nothing could be done. 



     

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    slimgrady commented on The Many Why's

    11-20-2009

    Arianne, these are great reads! I really love reading fine work! Thanks for being "out there" for all to enjoy! Keep up the good work "Slim"

    arianne

    11/24/2009

    O thanks a lot, Slim. I read all your poems too, only I lack your poetic skills. I just mumble thoughts here, ust a feel. I'm glad you appreciate my lines.

    In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

    Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

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