Doubt.

I’m lying, face-up, in the grass

Ten thousand miles away.

I’m pondering - how does time pass

And how come we just stay?

How come we always think about

The past with darkened thoughts?

How come depression sticks around

And happiness, it rots?

And where is God through all of this?

My voice is filled with doubt -

I’m screaming into the abyss,

God doesn’t speak a sound.

What have I said, what have I done

To make her go away?

My thoughts, they urge me - die or run.

Will she come back one day?

And if she does, do you think that

She’ll remember my name?

And where, then, would my life be at?

Would things still be the same?

I wish that I could know and prod.

Things could be good or worse.

But I’m a man; I’m not a God.

Time needs to run its course.