There's a block of gloomy darkness
beyond the gray yonder.
Since I can't see what's sitting there,
I can't help but ponder
whether there's solid ground upon
which a guy could wander.
Or would one fall into a void -
a life forthwith squandered.
Who can know if they don't ever go,
but leave it to the guessing?
No staked claims or stated aims, I find
the mystery distressing.
I listen to the stories, but
can't sup what they're expressing,
I know they've never been there either,
and it's creed they're professing.
So I'll start in that direction,
moving slowly as I go,
and if I should fall before the wall,
I'll bear that I can't know.
This entry was posted in Common Meter, poem, Poetry and tagged mystery, poem, poetry, Unknown by
B Gourley. Bookmark the
permalink.