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There was a man who looked at the world,
He saw its suffering, it penetrated his soul;
In silent anguish he strove to comprehend it,
When everything within him drove him to despair.

His eyes told a story that spoke without emotion,
His life was uneventful and contained nothing of beauty;
He rarely smiled and failed to be successful,
And in the lanes of his society he was chiefly ignored.

He had his frustrations, his stresses and failings,
He had his dreams, his ideals and aspirations;
But his creations were poor in relation to others,
And he pondered his place in the order of things.

He questioned himself, time after time,
And self-criticized at every mistake he made;
He knew he was inadequate and out of the flow,
He felt left out, without a sense of real purpose.

So his soul failed to glow with the light of achievement,
And his days were sad days, created by himself;
He wished that it would end, so he could return to holy peace,
But deep down he knew his soul wanted yet to live.

 

Written by Mark Woollacott
10:15am-10:28am Saturday 23rd May 2009.