A
colleague once remarked, not a little facetiously, that poets think they have
the answer to everything.
Oh, but I
wish!
At
school, some 50+ years ago, my English teacher, Mr Rankin, (a Scotsman) once
commented to the effect that life is all about discovery, and that is
all about asking questions. 'Stop asking questions,' he told us, 'and you might
as well be dead.'
Oh, but
YES.
So what
is life all about? Why are we here? Different people, different answers, but it’s
asking the question that counts, and makes us who we are.
POTENTIAL FOR INSPIRATION
POTENTIAL FOR INSPIRATION
What is
life, but to have lived at all?
What is
death, but all we‘ve not missed?
What is
love, but to have loved at all?
What is
beauty, but its flowers in a mist?
What is
desire but to know desire at all?
(What is
loss but by its light never kissed?)
What are
dreams, but a life unfulfilled?
What are
regrets, but art’s timelines?
What are
hopes, but the inner eye’s take
on seasonal colours?
What is
life, but to have lived it all?
What is
death, but refuting all we missed?
What is
love, but to have loved it all,
the
beauty of its flowers in a spring mist?
What is
desire, but to have desired it all,
loss but
shadows where its light has passed
in a
dream, the stuff a common humanity
lets pass
for peace where its regrets run
with its
hopes along timelines recording
art’s
penchant for copycat?
In being moved to ask just one question
lies the potential for inspiration
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2012
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