How very often I wish and wonder,
over life and meaning much I ponder.
Greatest mysteries and lost truths -
all those lies and lost youths.

Endless seems the search for verity,
even though I lack no sincerity.
When is it right to say good-bye?
Once the juncture just to die?

Can He not hear or does He exist?
Should that doubt be let to persist?
Unaltered is my ruling state of mind,
hopefully I will the answer find.

Fyrsta ljóðið sem ég hef reynt að semja á ensku og sýna opinberlega. Að sjálfsögðu má lengi bæta en ég er hræddur um að ég sjái ágallana síður en þið. So comment please.