-I am.
-Are you sure?
-I think, therefore, I am.
-Empirical.
-Of course.
-But were you always?
-You give me a headache.
-I know.
Philosophers on kitchen floors
debate in practiced, labored phrase,
scratch their molecular pates
above their universal eyes.
-Define me.
-No.
-Can't or won't?
-Take your pick.
Pick me apart
by microscope and tweezer.
Pick the secrets of my brain;
determine the psychosis
that keeps me asking why.
We sit silent by the sink
Dustily we sip this drink
holding close to all we were,
movement by the sea.
And in the whole expansive blue,
nothing to be seen.
-How big is the sky?
-As big as you want it.
This is a silly dream,
this life,
this life,
this life,
this dream-
And in the back, the boy banged on
metaphysical pots and metaphorical pans-
Author notes
It seems the more we ask ourselves these questions, the more obvious it becomes how immensely ignorant we are. You would think we would be content to leave it alone, but something in us makes us continue asking again and again, searching for what makes us up at a base level.
A contest entry
- What do I beleive I am? by BigSpiral.
300 points, ended June 8, 2008, 3 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
This is what I was looking for in this contest. Honesty.
Here You show us your inner workings. Your struggle, frustration and confusion which we can all relate to.
This conjoured a sense of anticipation for me and perhaps a sense of dissapointment. Perhaps it is when we give up trying to understand everything that everything finally becomes clear.
I think your a talented writer.
Thank you for your entry.
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