My Demand to Know






Yeah, so I am the aggressively curious type, so sue me. I want to know the why's, the wherefores, and the back story of every damned thing. Sure, sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me, it is probably gotten me into more trouble than my Irish temper and my smart mouth combined, but I will always be the curious type.

Maybe that is what makes a poet a poet, the burning, incessant desire to figure out the mechanics of everything from lust to boredom and then explain it to the world in such a way as you not only understand it but forgive me the hubris for delineating it in the first place.

Taking a peek under the tablecloth is certainly more fun than accepting what I am told, and there is little doubt I would ever drink the Kool-Aid without a thorough investigation.

Curiosity makes people easy to lead but difficult to rule, so I think it should be taught in school.

MY DEMAND TO KNOW

Forgive me my demand to know
My desire to reach the infinite.
I have asked and implored,
Begged and beseeched
In my own way,
Thrust my sentience into the ice-blue
Past the spangles of the stars
And the eternal of the darkness,
Straining to hear the anthems
To find something… more.

How grandiose I must seem,
As if I might know more
Than the rose’s sweet fragrance,
The bloom of a cherry blossom,
Or the glissando of the brook.
Yet I still hoist my petition,
Seeking the answer to both reason and truth.

I ask simply for a balm
For I am a captive of my soul’s decent.
I confess I do not pray for succor
Only consecration,
Nothing the singing wind
Could not achieve on its own.

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