Philosophical

Every day's a question mark
And from the time that we embark 
Each hour keeps us in the dark
Of what may yet be waiting.

We stumble forward like the blind,
Aware that what we're like to find
May not be what we had in mind
(And maybe even hating).

For nothing's certain in this life;
So quickly, joy can turn to strife.
A word can cut us like a knife,
A truth not worth debating.