The Big Question

demands the Big Answer


Down on the ground, prone,

out of breath and eyes closed

you speak in a desperate monotone:

What’s the point – 

oh what’s the point of it all?


Twenty years of education

ten years of therapy

decades spent spiralling up or down

and you’re still fucked-up and ignorant


Why not

rise up from this absorption in the past

the guilt the anger the blame?

Why not

forget the Big Question quest?

Why not

content yourself with unimportant things?


The joys your senses bring

the beauty of now

the tickling spider on your skin

the scent of damp earth

the herb taste on your tongue

the close-up sights and sounds?


Why not

sit up and look around?


These trees were seeds

when your great-great-grandparents were born!


Why not forget the Big Question quest

and welcome in the world?