When Isn'T the Question To Ask
WHEN ISN'T THE QUESTION TO ASK
When isn't the question to ask.
You will find no answer to satisfy
The curious mind or anxious heart,
You can look all you want into the middle distance
But you will see nothing emerge
Out of the perfect darkness
Which seems to mock you
In the vain attempt at seeking
To be justified for who you want to be.
No, you are still the way you always were,
Nothing changes - even an iota,
And all.this time you never once
Questioned your rightful existence
To discover if there was another path
To serene enlightenment
As you sit cross-legged, waiting for a sign,
Blank as a pristine sheet,
Waving in the unforgiving breeze.
When isn't the question to ask?
You've slipped away from the shore line
Without realising you can't hold
On to anything in the boat
Which carries you to your destination,
Creaking its wobbly passage through
The lapping waters of an ancient river.
The now has broken your time
Into tiny unseen fragments of doubt,
And seeps into a conscious stream,
Where the when becomes a seamless eternity.
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