The Boy Who Wondered.
There was once a boy who wondered,
and he set out to find out,
but in all the things he came to discover
he found no "answers" without doubt.
If now he were to move in certitude,
would he come to find he'd lost his mind?
Yet if he ignored these questions,
wouldn't that choice be terribly blind?
The questions multiply like rabbits
zipping in and out of a billion holes
and they're all late for something
and their clocks have lost control.
Puzzles and riddles grow and blossom wide
he’s lost in the middle, and his mind
just juggles it all to irrelevance
as he cages the fire in the fence.
He looks into the trees, he sees
a million children standing there
all with wicked grins that strech;
silo-eyes that do more than stare.
There’s no certainty anywhere,
he just watches, scared and amazed,
he trembles, wondering night and day
if he knew the truth
found the Blues
what could he really do
against dark Indigo,
anyway?
What "answer", then, might satisfy?
Is doubt a torch best lit for all time?
All these years of looking, he again wonders,
is there truth in here to find?
He tries to look away,
fade away,
But he cries in realization,
“it’s a part of me, It’s a
part of me,” he says,
“and I’m so
afraid that it’s
insane.”
And so the skies are getting darker
and the children frighten him,
the monsters still dance in the dark,
and the boy, he's still wondering...
There was once a boy who wondered,
and he set out to find out,
but in all the things he came to discover
he found no "answers" without doubt.
If now he were to move in certitude,
would he come to find he'd lost his mind?
Yet if he ignored these questions,
wouldn't that choice be terribly blind?
The questions multiply like rabbits
zipping in and out of a billion holes
and they're all late for something
and their clocks have lost control.
Puzzles and riddles grow and blossom wide
he’s lost in the middle, and his mind
just juggles it all to irrelevance
as he cages the fire in the fence.
He looks into the trees, he sees
a million children standing there
all with wicked grins that strech;
silo-eyes that do more than stare.
There’s no certainty anywhere,
he just watches, scared and amazed,
he trembles, wondering night and day
if he knew the truth
found the Blues
what could he really do
against dark Indigo,
anyway?
What "answer", then, might satisfy?
Is doubt a torch best lit for all time?
All these years of looking, he again wonders,
is there truth in here to find?
He tries to look away,
fade away,
But he cries in realization,
“it’s a part of me, It’s a
part of me,” he says,
“and I’m so
afraid that it’s
insane.”
And so the skies are getting darker
and the children frighten him,
the monsters still dance in the dark,
and the boy, he's still wondering...
