Question Marks

So whats with this book now?
Looks like any other good brown hardcover book bound
The type rarely took down in the libraries, destined for dust
That people can't quite put down or brush off
Even though it's been labeled hateful
Abused to validate racial subjugation and justify hatred
It just defies explanation, how pages could be both burned and bashed,
Learned and loved, hated, yet translated into every single tongue
If this was just some regular book then how come?
And even these divisions it caused is all for proof,
As we find extreme reactions wherever there is truth
And why have we heard quoted a billion times?
Could it be more than just some brilliant lines?
A simple tradition to keep men so engaged in the pages
By something beyond even the statements
In the way the scribes, from different tribes,
In different places at different times, could all scribble lines
But without collusion perfectly coincide,
And connect like pieces of a puzzle
Made from parables, and prophecies,
Parallels and paradoxes that seem to unlock the mysteries
As we watch the history unfold,
Just as it was foretold
The scrolls unroll to reveal
Words with that strongest trained sense of all things real
Could it be made up, well actually, factually
Scholars have tested the historical accuracy,
But beyond science, even intuition attests
To what the book confirms and all of nature suggests
That there is likely a force behind
That must possess some kind of mind to design the search,
With all complex life intertwined
But how could we travel through time, to unravel the lines,
And discover the nature of the divine?

Like is He just and kind, compassionate, old, bearded and vengeful?
Indifferent? Omnipotent? And if so,
He must be some kind of sick old man,
Because the world as we know it is far from blissful
Now all this goes to say, that most today,
Believe in some kind of God, even hope and pray
But struggle with with religion and faith don't dismay
We're not destined to decease before we find...

The answer to all the question marks, a spot we began to understand
See, all the questions inside man are like hands
On the internal compass that guides
As we search for what could make our hearts satisfied
First we look outside, blind leading blind in succession for success
But no one ever conquers the questions
It's the quest which only serves to further evidence,
The irrelevance,
Of human skill and intelligence
Then we look inside and find with introspection
There's no bearing to define the direction towards truth
To navigate the course
Because not inside or outside, the questions point to a source
Like is there more to life than sleep, struggle and strife?
Just eat, hustle and fight
And maybe juggle a wife, kids and a job
Why are we here? Is there a God?
If there were no answers, would it not be odd?
Our lives would be nothing but a constant search
For something we can't describe
But swear we must have lost at birth
Because on this earth we never feel quite at home
Even in large crowds we can often feel alone
In our own skin trapped like slaves
To behave in ways
That betray our own will, it's strange
The inconsistencies and mystery
How we often lament that we're not who we wish to be
Well, for those in this position,
First off you're not alone
Secondly, in this condition something interesting is shown; the conscience
But why would it impose such laws that expose such flaws?
There seems no just cause
But since our conscience is a part of our person,
The mistake that many make is to ignore it in our searchings for happiness
Which leaves many incomplete
But this is still just the first step to finding peace
Because it's not blind devotion to a code of laws
But a real relationship with the one true God
Pause.