I Have a Question For You
Or perhaps several.
What’s it like to know how it ends?
To see where you’re going, and recall where you’ve been?
Does it bother you so, to be ever lucid?
To be left unsurprised, to know what the truth is?
It must be cumbersome, they must expect so much,
Referring your conscience and belaying your touch.
You seem to be but a tool to be used,
Yet still you present us with riddles and clues.
Can you see through walls, or is it all in your mind?
Are you contained within, or beyond space and time?
Can you hold up the weight of the world in your palms?
Can you weave words like the scholars, compose beauteous psalms?
Perhaps do you fear that which mere men may?
Does it call out to you — our primal parade?
Do bumps in the night give fright and desire,
When the soft candlelight warms our bones in the fire?
Do you yearn to be useful, despite what you are?
Does it leave you feeling empty, like you’re falling apart?
