"Questions," A Poetry Post

It's in times like these that life affords us many questions:

As to whether it is better to live or to die or to
go screaming or go gently or be
happy or be mourning or be
holy or be heathen or be
angry or be grateful or be
steadfast or be broken or be
piecemeal or be stable or be
hollowed or be graceful or be
anything but obviously
busted in an ana-
chrony-
istic sort of
timed out,
flustered,
pressured kind of
state of somewhat being.

To believe that we can bring ourselves some peace in trying to be
brilliant or be dullard or to
think that we can make ourselves more
settled if we're
subject or we're super or to
hope that we can make ourselves sure footing
if we pray-pray-pray is sort of
silly.

When the sun goes down we all are
human.
And we hurt.
And we wonder.
And we cry.
And we falter.
And we hurry.
And we disappoint.

We sometimes feel
awkward.

It is what it is.

I too must face with eyes wide open
questions,
questions that I cannot answer,
questions that I do not understand to even
ponder.

I hope that when I find myself peering
as you may be,
that someone can remind me of my frailties.

I hope that when I'm wondering,
the shadow of your resilience reminds me
to be still.

-T. D. James-Moss