What is the meaning of life, I wonder as I witness a murder.
So innocent and placid was the victim,
Whose unjustified oppressor seemed satisfied,
And the manís face was as a mirror; a reflection of his past lives.
Briefly I ask myself: is the good of doing wrong, that which is not?
If this so-called sinful man, along with his brothers has the choice,
As well as the rest of man,
To choose between life and death,
Why can it be so that we choose that which we try to flee?
And then I find my answer,
As I find that those with the privilege of life cannot be living,
Unless there exists the ability to not be so.
So as the devil turns to me and deducts his self to that of others,
I say thank you,
For your gift,
And for taking the road filled with evil that otherwise would have destroyed us long ago.
Then cold shoots through meAnd death praises.