Are we the writers of our own songs

Are we the writers of our own songs. 

As I travel around the world 
taking a good look all around 
me wherever it is I may be I
hang my head in shame for 
all of the things that I see, even
sometimes when I am watching
the evening news I am very 
saddened so I start to wonder 
to myself if this world we all 
live is worth even saving? Or
should we sit back do nothing 
and let it just burn in the fiery 
flames of hell or do we give up 
on even trying to save it while
as it tries so very hard every
single day to destroy itself? So 
I started thinking is humanity
the cause or the answer? Are 
we ourselves to blame for
what this world has become?
Is it fate or faith that drives us
to continue waking up day 
after day after day with the 
rising of the morning sun?
Are we all maybe what is left 
of some big secret alien
experiment that some how 
went completely wrong? Are 
we only just some actors in a
bad play that we call life? Or 
are we the writers of our own
songs? Could we really be all 
alone as in the only ones stuck
down here on this planet with 
a moon revolving around us 
as we spin around our one 
and only sun? Is there anybody
else who are just like us far 
beyond what our eyes can see 
when we look up into the clear 
midnight skies and watch all 
the millions of stars shining 
brightly looking a whole lot like 
fireflies flying all around? And 
if there are others out there I 
wonder are they looking up 
at all the stars too thinking the 
same thing as I do? If they are
friendly do they all get along? 
Have they found the key to 
peace does it matter what the 
color is of there skin? What
gender they are? Or who it is 
they fall in love with girl or 
boy? Are there children crying
who are cold and hungry out 
on the streets with nowhere 
to go or even a roof over their
heads with shoes on their feet?
Do they respect one another in
all aspects of life or do they all
lie, cheat  and steal from the 
others while beating and raping
women and children is there fear 
destruction and strife? Do 
they know what love means do
they spread it freely all around?
Or has it died there too buried 
six feet down under ground?

Poet Richard M Knittle Jr.
A #Poets Journey


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