Sunday, January 18, 2009
a question posed
If i could imagine a life where something made sense
would i have to be dead?
are things now supposed to be this way?
will questions always persist?
in satisfaction not guaranteed?
what keeps my feet from moving forward?
what keeps my hands so still?
as i question the answers seem trivial
as more questions continue to pile up
something has to stop for something new to begin.
then stop. start. open.