why do i write in lower case?
it is not because i want to be
like bukowski
or cummings
but because i am humble
and in reverence of language
i whisper in its church

“how would a man live
if he neither
fully
believes in rationality,
nor in God?

how would a man resolve
the paradox of
meaningful existence
and yet, the
purposelessness it brings?

how would a man find
comfort in
fellow men who are
as equally as you,
mortal?

how would a man understand
Creation when he is
the Created,
and part of
the Plan?”

the blind one asked.

“how is it man’s obligation
to answer these doubts?

how could man not see,
that his duty is to
live,
not question,
not answer?”

the wise one reveals.

to walk across a street and see:
lined golden bulbs with fixing glow,
and flickering flames from waxy tips,
and lying radiance – worthless stones,
and then to find that no one light
is yours to keep nor yours to lose.

to look across a forest hued:
a hundred golden sun-lit leaves,
that scatter themselves on fresh brown earth,
across a palate of flaunting flowers,
and then to find that no one shade
is yours to keep nor yours to lose.

to read a book from end to end:
and taste that rhythm and rhyme and sound,
then tear its form and see its meaning,
then piece it back with admiration,
and then to find that no one word
is yours to keep nor yours to lose.

to meet again with one another:
and see them age with grey and sorrow,
with merely hope to see tomorrow,
the grains of sand in glass they borrow,
and then to find that no one friend
is yours to keep nor yours to lose.

to venture life and only find, that:
nothing
is yours to keep nor yours to lose.