Do you ever wake up thinking why am I here,
Those seconds of doubt with that tingle of fear,
That realisation that for all that your worth,
You’re simply a drain on this wondrous earth.
A wasp you might say has no purpose at all,
Annoying and stripy, pathetically small,
But always our reasons and rationings fail,
For life like the wasp has a sting in her tail,
You can drive a Rolls Royce be admired as you go,
And curse at the driver whose pace is too slow,
You rev up the engine and blast on the horn,
But he’ll never care in what bed you were born,
The status we have is as fleeting as life,
The cup from the golf club, the young trophy wife,
The prizes we search for, the gold that we hoard,
The singular reasons for why we are bored.
I suppose that I’ve done it behaved like a clown,
I’ve built up my tower just to pull the thing down,
The sad realisations that came when I’m old,
As the mysteries of life have begun to unfold,
We place all our values in things we don’t need,
That flower with great beauty is still just a weed,
Our minds are so complex our wants so profound,
That we sow our desires in the unhallowed ground.
That’s why at the harvest we look in the bin,
Amazed that our crop is the wages of sin,
But yet I’m not saddened by knowing the truth,
For we sow what we reap from the days of our youth.
Of course there’s salvation where heaven awaits,
But I’m still not sure that I’ll walk through the gates,
I know when the sun shines there’s wasps on the wing,
And good mother nature is rounding the ring.
If the wasp then has purpose, perhaps I do too,
Perhaps in the binding I’m part of the glue,
Perhaps in the scheme of things god has his ways,
And pleasures and pleasing in wonderful days.
How cathartic to write and to reason and doubt,
And if I have purpose that’s mine to work out,
I walk through this wonderland stunted and blind,
Thanking god for my reason, those wasps in my mind.