The Metaphor

I know better then anyone

That puzzling together

Strings of red and blue

Christmas lights from

Across the universe

With missing bulbs

And broken wire

Will never lead to beauty

But to desperate

Rivers of chaos in

Glorified scarlet turmoil

Defying what the white order 

decreed good and right

I can’t tell the meaning of life

Without confirming that

I am still alive

So instead I sit

under my blanketing arms

Lying on my denim knees

Waiting for it all to end

Praying for it to pass

Everyone knows how petty

Our feeble existence

And problems may be

But I have died

And I was born again

And I don’t care that I

can't tell who;

Like a metaphor can.