Why is that
I fear not You but the world
as an erratic bird
who knows neither his master
nor capturer?

Why is that
the superficial is clear,
eternity being jeered,
Your fear not feared,
the world being endeared
and all this being cheered?

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Why is that
You are out of sight,
amidst this plight
of intra-human fights
between Your self-proclaimed knights
and a shrinking line between wrong and right?

Why is that
despite all this freedom
You bequeathed in Your fiefdom,
we long for serenity
and Your affinity
at a scale of infinity?

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And why is that
our freedom of choice
is not that pious,
and even being Your vice
could not suffice
to mend – with You – our ties?

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