Thoughts on Existence

A Poem by Dean

It rages still, that great dichotomy
among the puzzled ones
in search of one clear archetype
that marks reality; what is it...
every thing at all,
or nothingness?

Each opposite, a fodder
rich indeed to test for truth.
Each has its champions,
and each brings deep contempt.

So let us wallow with them;
It does not become us to demur.
Origins may be dismissed,
for thingness rides on creeds
too busily involved to narrow down
to a disinterested, non-theistic choice.

There must be higher ground
if grounds there be at all.
Of necessity, they lie
beyond our touch...or anyone's.
Blind, we are to sight and sense,
to logic, speculative formula
and even wild imagining
by ages yet to come.

Surely it is madness,
all this nothingness
that we are left to contemplate,
yet mind is unable to do that--
are we agreed?
That we are raving idiots
appears to be our single road.

It is too high a price for me.
I shall not pay, and cannot, of course.
I am devoid of reasons or their source;
happily bereft, it would appear,
even of myself.
~