by Stephen Paden
No one told me to wake up today
and yet I did.
Did the light from the morning sunshine through the skin of my eyelids?
Or is it just timing—an involuntary response to a voluntary action?
And what lies between?
There are no answers,
at least none that I’ve heard.
Some days there isn’t any time
But time, through it all, remains the same!
A summer day puts to trial a patient man’s heart,
while a winter sun quickly dies,
leaving us cold, in search of answers that we know are not there;
no, we search for the answers to only two questions—
who am I? … what’s in the syringe?