Of All

Of All

Of all that is, was, and will be,
I've yet to find one thing for me.
Ah yes, I know this thought is strange.
But if I stop and rearrange
all my life's precious memories
I find not but misbeliefs.
And many things that once were great
now wither, fade, and dissipate
and swirl and toss upon the wind,
of life and all, off to a place
that no one knows and none can face.

Now what and where is that I sought.
For all I knew has turned to rot.
Now when I stop and close my eyes,
I drift toward sleep and realize
that all I've done and yet will do
is all for me and not for you.
But all I want is your true love.
The kind that floats down like a dove.
But when I go and search I find
there's not but doubt and misery.
I've yet to find one thing for me.