SUCKY POETS SOCIETY

i wake up mid night
with beads of sweat on my forehead
my mind in a whirlpool of thoughts
that almost prick the inside of my head
this uncalming feeling… why?
i lie here, on a velvet pillow
draped in soft cotton, wearing strings of pearl
my wife sleeps soundly, my son
his breathing peaceful like a gentle breeze
his eyes closed innocent, his cheeks
glow, in contentment
nothing bothers him, yet why?
why is it not the same for all…
for the others…?
what lies outside my palace walls…
that which is i know not of…
even know not how to name 
why did the gray man frown so? his wrinkled face
bent forward close to his stick, his forehead creased
into letters incomprehensible
why did the elderly woman cry, as the four men bore
the figure on the bier to the river-bank
why were her eyes wet, what kind of… pain was she in?
what kind of world do they know, that i am not part of..
why did the lean boy shiver, under the wooden shed?
wrapped in a thin shawl, as it rained outside
why does he not know the same… comfort.. that my son does
or why do we not know.. the same pain that he did?
my chest now burns, with a strange fire
i must find the answer
to these questions, that now surround me
or else this world that i do exist in
 is only as good as a dream unfelt,
unlived in
a life, but without the seeds that sprout in the spring
to bring us confirmation of the brahma within
i must go
i must seek
if i do return, it will not be without answers