schrodawg

A poem:

We walk these streets,
Looking for some bleak meaning,
Of what we are,
Though nothing here will be found,
At all, ever.

Yet we try.
In hope,
In desperation.

But here we are,
We're here with you.
And you will search,
Search for a clue,
Of what we are,
I thought you knew?
We will be undone.

Yet here we are,
And here we will always be.
Waiting, watching,
For something that we can't see,
At all, ever.

And we cry.
With hate,
With devastation.

But here we are,
We're here with you.
And you will search,
Search for a clue,
Of what we are,
I thought you knew?
We will be undone.