Uncertainty, a static invitation to a life
that is waiting just beyond the next decision,
Where the grass seems to grow greener
in out best interpretation or prediction.

To the judges on high this makes much sense
To them your worth is determined by each hurdled fence,
But like the lesson of a hot stove or a sharp knife
It is just so haphazardly that we mold this life.

From this Earth all try to gleam
a little security to make life seem
made safe by our own sad dime,
Doubt in this conviction is the woe of mankind.

We are slaves to ourselves
To the choices everyday presents,
Thus only in indecision can freedom be found
to shed the elected fate to which we are bound.

Hiesenburg indeterminacy,
Is this recourse or relief?
A possible salvation in intimacy,
A testament to belief?

Do we still believe we can win
even as we think to prove there is no end?

This game is of our own make,
Within it we spiral about ourselves
seeing all at once the answer to take
our questions away
our reasons away.
Ah! For the entire race; our rebirth is a solid death that day.

This brings us back to the start
to decide which humble human art
provides the best butterfly net
or a comfortable theory to pet
And again to agonize upon knowing
that decision, not truth, directs the going.

06/28/2006

Posted on 06/28/2006
Copyright © 2024 Tracy Ellen