The integrity, of all of reality,
is twisted around a Father figure,
when we whirl about it's grandeur
to look for final answers.
A bright spark, ignites a flame -
but shatters into fragments all the same -
the dragon of matter in it's making, breaking
bonds of old and burning forms anew.
The revel in the detail - the
trouble it can cause - to question
lessons lasting in the learned lines
that asking groped for, in eternal fear.
And?
We are shaking, when the aching
mark of question, falls over, all anyone
can ever say - but numbers crunch us up
and turn us over.
An inward dive, a carbon rod -
rolled from the height of blown-up time
to a reaching arm, an open hand, an eager mind
to grasp it, turn and throw it.
The dance of fine tunes - identity
driven rhythms - all are given, and taken
for granted - without that awkward asking,
without any unknown dance steps.
And?
That's it. This is all there is -
and there is no more left to say - when
it is okay, to sidestep away from the
useless truth. The begging of questions.