Colin F. Jones


Lord if you made me to be just a man,
To live for the purpose of doing the best that I can
On an Earth that is beautiful, natural and cruel,
Under you guidance and motive, desire and rule,
Why must I be restricted in the things I might do?
For you made me this way; well they say that is true.
Why do I have anger and the ability to hate,
Yet am loving and peaceful and share of my plate?
Why do I have pain as I pass youth and grow old,
Saddened by the death of my friends once able and bold?
What is the point of this life, I’m not sure?
Why must I kill all those others who seek to kill me in war?
If these things that I do are never seen to be right,
Why the Hell did you make me to suffer this plight?