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Poem written by Benjamin Wiechel

"My Life"

I used to have things to say.
I used to have answers.
But the longer I live, the fewer
Things I have to say,
Answers I have to give.
All I have left are questions.
Why?
Why me?
What did I do to deserve this?
Why do you like me?
Why do you care?
Why do I care?
Why should I care?
Each one valid in its own right.
Each one a question, searching,
Trying to find the answers
To why
I
Exist.
Many people have answers to this.
Many people suggest that I'm harder
On myself than I am.
Perhaps.
Then again, I KNOW me, and
They just know
The masks I wear.
I am one person,
Yet many.
There is one true me,
And none.
I exist in a plane of life
Which confuses me.
One in which there is
No stable point
No help
Little enjoyment
And much pain.
Yet I manage to live.
Why?
The never answered question.
I cannot die:
That is determined.
I have a purpose as yet unfulfilled.
Yet, what is it?
I know not.
Would that I could know,
So it could be done.
Maybe it's a continuing purpose.
Then why can't I die?
What is there about me that is so special?
I know not.
Do you?
Perhaps, yet you cannot tell me.
I cannot live,
I cannot die.
I exist in the world
Of purgatory.
Too good for hell.
Too bad for heaven.
I am somewhere in between,
And must atone for my sins.
Someday maybe I shall.
But today,
Today,
Today I must bear my cross
And continue on this life of nothingness.

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