Molded By The Creator?

Everywhere on earth, I am a priest
Carrying messages of the gods,
I don’t know how it feels to dream
Neither do I know my friends by name,
I don’t choose where I go, I roam,
No food to eat, can’t even speak,
Too many secrets I can’t spill,
I see, smell everything, know nothing,
And with my own self I always collide,
I am comfort sprinkled with disdain-
I’m grateful you made me one with no sin,
But I’ve lived as long as time has and will,
I need to know my stand, I need answers,
After life, will I go to heaven or hell?
I matter here, will I matter there?
Will I lose respect and shrink in size?
If you dare not to reply, I’ll write again,
Attach to your letter, my real name,
Cause some people call me “Hair,” ear” and others, “Air”
I hope I’ve served you enough for you to hear:
That I’m sometimes lonely and I need a pair

Wildkhard [TA]