It’s A Mystery To Me

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
Butterflies fly?
Or would it be because,
Babies always cry?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
People lie?
Or would it be because,
The right ones say bye-bye?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
Planes zip across the sky?
Or would it be because,
Gossiping biddies are always exclaiming ‘oh my’!?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
Some bread is made of rye?
Or would it be because,
Some give up before they try?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
There’s no such thing as the good guys?
Or would it be because,
Contentment makes everyone sigh?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
We live again after we die?
Or would it be because,
There’s always one more thing to buy?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
Soap is made with lye?
Or would it be because,
Thickness is sometimes measured by ply?

At times I wonder why,
It is maybe because,
Any face or tone can turn wry?
Or would it be because,
Hair looks better with some dye?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
Too much time has passed by?
Or would it be because,
A new beginning draws nigh?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
Brown is the color of those eyes?
Or would it be because,
That restaurant serves Thai?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
The young lady is shy?
Or would it be because,
People get fat from pie?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
Not everyone enjoys a fish fry?
Or would it be because,
Dressed up men wear a tie?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
The desert climate is dry?
Or would it be because,
It’s too rare to see a toned thigh?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
People are reluctant to say hi?
Or would it be because,
The waiter served a bad chai?

At times I wonder why,
Is it maybe because,
Approximately 3.14 is pi?
Or would it be because,
They say a fox is sly?

Color Scheme

Purple like a bruise,
Just starting to heal,
Red like a wound,
Just starting to seal,
Pink like the scar,
Left from the wound,
White like the skin,
Where now from bruises it’s clear.

Black like the fear,
When demons come near,
Yellow like the cheer,
When angels appear,
Silver like the bullets,
To take out the demons,
Gold like the crowns,
That from the angel’s heads are gleaming.

Blue like the fields,
Found around Kentucky,
Green like the clover,
That is rare but lucky,
Orange like the flames,
That can obliterate the fields,
Brown like the death,
When winter takes over the clover.