What shall resound in me,
or has all inspiration surrendered?
Sound within sound,
hidden from the casual ear —
or is it merely a creation of imagination?
I cannot tell whether
I am being clever, or if it is instead
a roundabout way of being foolish,
stupidity with a diploma.
For I think that if nothing
comes from nothing, how is it
that it all began, and if something
was always there, how can it be
that it all began? How did it happen?
Or why is it that
there is something, here,
instead of nothing, an infinity
of emptiness? Is that not more sensible?
All these questions I ask,
once I thought I could answer them,
and did, in fact, come up
with aphorisms to cover all my bases.
But as the poet said,
I was so much older then,
I’m younger than that now.
I come up with more questions, these days,
but ones I do not obsess about.
There seems to be more sunshine
that preoccupies me.
I believe that is a kind of wisdom.
Reflection
8:54pm friday, 27th january
With the risperdal I'm taking, it seems to be working.I might not be able to produce any rants anymore.I asked my doctor how the drug works.He said "we don't know".(ha, ha, ha.)
Scop
11:11pm sunday, 29th january
I really like those first two lines. I certainly feel as if all inspiration has surrendered.
I felt a connection between the last five lines and your latest, "Letting Go."
Reflection
Scop