Questions With No Answers

Not so much a poem, as it is the endless questions that swirl around the confinds that is my tourtured noggin in a poetic form.

The yearning one feels in their soul,

Sparks endless questions.

Of which no one person, 

Will ever know the answer.

The cruel concept of time,

Seemingly endless from the start,

It passes so quickly.

And then we are gone.

Why are we here?

What purpose do we serve?

Is there life after death?

Will only darkness greet our passing?

If there is a God, 

How do we know what he expects of us?

I do not trust the word of man.

Perhaps I shall never know.

In the end, 

Maybe we are not supposed to.

I choose to live in an honest way, 

Being the best person I can be,

As I wait for the world to decay.

Even if the world does not, then I one day shall.

Because in the end, 

We are all supposed to.