Thoughts Ahead Of Myself Poem by Bullion Grey

What are we doing?
Does the pay we get today, mean anything eternal?
Do the friends we have live on and on?
Are we ever filled?
Is it not true we are never full, done, or befriended forever?
What are we doing?

Why are there no turning points, that we can see ahead?
Where are the signs, to guide us?
Where are the gentle spirits who could tell us?

How did we get here?
I know we were born, but I mean HOW did we get born,
as we are, here, at this time?

Is there something we are missing?

What could it be?

What are we doing, really?