Life is a mystery…

And that is the cliché

I use to describe

My confounding experience of it.

 

That’s the irony

Of life

That I depend on the dead

To help me understand the living…

 

What if I gave up this strife…?

Would my not-knowing

Be any less

Than it is now?

 

I’m beginning to see

How acceptance

Is moral and complete

And how it immediately harmonizes…

 

Perhaps there’s wisdom and beauty

In dwelling in the silence

And not soliciting the overused

To speak about it.

 

When things can be said

How much more eloquent

Would it be

To not say them.