Must the heart feel so heavy when there are no stars in the sky?
And yet feel the chill of loving somebody when it gently breezes by
Must the street lamps everywhere be distanced in perfect symmetry?
And yet find no solution to our pattern-less pattern of life’s perpetuity
Must the memory of someone lost linger on like a parasite?
And yet forgetting them is sometimes what we really despise
Must we be merry when streets flock with celebration?
And yet feel perfectly displaced upon every drum beats unison
Must another rise in the place of the fallen only to wear his shoes uncleaned?
And yet demand for the risen to step down, for yet another to replace him
Must the sun be followed by the moon or has it always the other way been?
And yet we find no answer to determine when day or night begins
Must He be spoken of as everyone’s bower or just a symbol of advent?
And yet they erect walls uncertain whether to protect or prevent
Must this poem see its dusk or pause for a new beginning in pretence
And yet this poem has found its path and finally rolled up to its end