What is real?

Every breath,

Every step,

Every thought,

Or is it feeling… the pain, the sorrow…

Can I grab whats real? Yet I feel everything is out of reach.

The knocking of death’s door gets louder every day.

Soon I won’t even be a memory.

Can mercy bare any weight if death is right around the corner?

These eyes stare deep into the night hoping for glamor of light.

Hoping for culmination of life to have some worth, and just be more than chaff of the fire.

What purpose of these eyes if I live in dark?

What meaning does my sorrow have if I don’t grow from it?

I only know one thing to be real is what father says of me.

That is what will last.

That is more true then any thing I say and do.

His thoughts become reality.

His words become the truth.

And what he loves lasts forever.