The Question is Never
Who will lock the door
or leap in front of the jacketed
bullet. Nor is it four words
born in lust and camouflaged
with piety. No one cares
if you blink or continue
breathing. No one knows
what you think. Nothing
matters. Not the pen
in her hand or your finger
on the trigger. Not the crying
and the dead and the stains
in the hallway, the man
in the street hiding behind
himself. The question
is no question, but an answer
struggling to emerge. Never
formed, never truly complete.
“The Question is Never” first appeared on Vox Populi in June 2018.
“the man/in the street hiding behind/himself”- !!!! Another wonderful, mind-twisting poem!
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I have hid behind myself on numerous occasions, but that was another life. 🙂
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Sort of comforting to think of questions as answers struggling to emerge … most questions do lead to more questions … the answers that appear along the way often turn out to be premature, inappropriate … a bit like a gun in hand aimed at one whose thoughts are held within …
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We live in a time of blurred edges and grays. Questions are often our best answers.
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Interesting play with words
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Thank you, Paula.
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This is beautiful. Thank you 🙏🏾
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Thanks very much!
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