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
rise up from this absorption in the past
the guilt the anger the blame?
forget the Big Question quest?
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?
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?