The Riddle of the World
I remember i was six years old,
when my grandfather died,
it left me feeling so sad and cold,
i couldn't say bye,
so thus i am tied,
for my mother had sent me to my grandmas,
she left me there to go visit him and say bye,
but never got to,
though he was my world,
since then i have twirled and twirled,
trying find a hold,
in the ever changing cold,
Since that day day death has followed,
sending a vortex of sadness,
left in the blackness
trying to save a life,
when you can't save your own,
when all failures tear like a knife,
welcome to my life,
trying to find the light.
When finally it is found,
refusing to be bound,
for either blackness or light,
are not mine to behold,
instead i tread in gray,
with both warmth and cold,
for to tread my path,
i must forge my own.
To save a life,
you must tread in the middle,
for being a riddle,
you must accept strife,
to hope to save a life,
you must lose plenty,
and give much,
to save a life,
you must give hope,
and you must respect death,
and live life,
for both are part of the riddle of being caught in the middle.
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