Nine Questions

 

In my unruly curiosity,
A midnight mind that opens to it all,
Am I drawing nearer or will I be
Adrift, too far to hear the cosmos call?
Has this obsessive fascination won?
What makes me always ponder large and small?
A voice that slips away, a setting sun,
To rise again, and then to simply fall?
Do I await a written fate on stone?
My grave all strewn with dead and wilted blooms?
A future, only dust below, alone,
Like those whose bones now fill the silent tombs?

What voice within me makes me question why?
A voice I hear that says I shall not die?

*

©
david coyote
September 5, 2000
Edited January 22, 2008

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