Why do things happen in the ways they do?
Why do most suffer while a happy few
Seem blessed by Fortune or the hand of God,
A few exalted but the mass downtrod?
This Mystery of Iniquity is cause
To think there is no justice, are no laws
But randomness and chance presiding here,
Unbridled horses on a wild career.
Yet something beyond thought supplies a hope
That life is more than a cascading slope
Bound for oblivion and senseless ruin,
With mayhem, slaughter, loss and sorrow strewn.
Perhaps it’s mere delusion conjured by
Despair. Or Faith that sees the reason why.