Excessive dwelling on the why.
Losing initiative thereby.
Entertaining such a query,
Has rendered me long and dreary. . .
Losing will but not the grace.
This is the tale that I now face.
Will the grace pull me through?
Without the want, without ado?
And what of this pithy tale?
The passing flavor and detail.
Why must it spin a tale untrue?
A failure in attending to,
The drilling down to the start.
But for distractions of a heart.
So I do move, and I will sway.
I’ll let the winds have their way.
I will bend, and I will break.
I will be true for truth’s sake. . .
I do not know what is true.
I do not know what to do.
Following a trail of truth,
Renders me long in the tooth.
When the truth is but a fiction,
That I held with such conviction,
That turned out to be so wrong.
It’s been this way for so long.
Would now vary all that much?
I still believe in truth and such.
Why would I now be more clear?
Why would my heart not interfere?
The truth is that my heart would,
As prompted by my personhood.
The truth is that I do not know,
What is real, how it will go.
The truth is that I’m in the dark.
And truth is but a fleeting mark.
The whole thing has me wondering.
About a life of blundering. . .
Wonder is a funny thing.
Caring not what truth might bring.
Setting a self to receive.
To worry not, but to believe.
© 2023 TheRememberings Ltd.