Would I write something brilliant
if I could write as well as I think?
Would it register, matter to anyone
or be hidden in the halls of history?
Might an unknown future scholar
discover how a cryptic poet sings?
Show the words better soul’s food
than lunch for book lice and mice.
These are questions I will ponder,
to seek my place, my raison d’être.
What makes me happy, yet not only
smiles, laughter, but also centered.
Is loving and being loved enough
in this sojourn along our journey?
Will we recall progress we made?
Must we learn our lessons again?
I’m full of questions unanswered;
toe the edge, space, time, reason.
If I’d started in the Spring would
it and I succeed, fail or stagnate?
A moment’s choice alters futures,
opens new logic trees of choices.
Can we truly know our places as
we all sing in our sidereal choir?