Questions

The Questions 

Maybe this is my refusal to leave the tent

Maybe I’m just done

Maybe I simply have no clue 

What is always going on 

Though I have nothing left

Or so it merely seems 

I still sit here amongst the place

Of all my dead and dying dreams

So what now?

What now?

What is to become of all this waiting?

What is the purpose of all this carbon dating ?

What water will I drink from these ancient wells

While the ocean that dwells within me has no wave nor swell?

The questions ripple through the waters

Yet they seem to never return 

I believe they have not struck the cliffs

The mammoth rocks I’ve heard of but I have yet to see 

The things I know are real 

Are the things I never see

Maybe it’s time to follow the questions 

They are like the homing pigeons 

Always knowing where the answers live

The place my heart simply knows as home

Time to roam

With a purpose 

I feel the call within 

To follow 

Yet where is the way?

Where did that ripple go?

That’s ok, I’ll just ask another question 

Because there’s everything that I do not know