Did I misread
the life’s universal wisdom
somebody motley painted
on the concrete, wet, cracked wall?
Could I have spent
my life into a journey,
following a prophet
who always was all wrong?
Sometimes,
when the rain is pouring,
I’m looking for an omen
in the hollow, weightless night.
Sometimes,
when I am looking for a purpose,
the purpose’s looking
at me from behind.
And sometimes,
when everything has no meaning,
the shadows whisper
of the meaning of the life and of death.
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