Uncertainty

 Just as the dark pillows recide,
the sun try’s to shine.

The gloom remains.
Like the debri left behind
from a hurricane.

My pen just decided
to die,
but the need to wright
is alive. 
 
What .. do you wright 
when the world   
has told all its   
secrets.
 
Beside its self in its
own  
unique
existsnce.      

What story do we tell-
when there’s no words to describe,

No human language
can explain
the faith of
creature kind.

In its prime,
and a coal mine,
at the same time.

Is it possible
to be in a crossroads
of some cosmic vibe.

Like were only
alive to die,
and we only die
to provide.

The cycle is
 enevidble,
no matter how
 incredible.

It seems the earth 
is sharing
its grinding frown.

 But we are to
blind to see.
And just continue
to live 
in uncertainty.