Poetry | Questions

Poetry | Questions
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©2022 by Vernon Miles Kerr and VernonMilesKerr.com

In human life,
Oxymoron and cognitive-dissonance abound —

Every mystery solved yields more.

When did we awake from a contented existence of mere subsistence

To a wondering annoyance of puzzlement over the overhead?

Why didn't we stay focused on the immediate and simply ignore the infinite,

Like our friends, the other creatures
who are still unburdened
by irritating questions—always questions?

But those points of light, with their patterns and hinted-at forms simply screamed for definition, 
Like an indictment from a perverse games-master.
"Figure it out."
So we tried.

This one says,"dog," that one says,"hunter," those over there are "sisters."

Why does everything have to "make sense," to us? 
What is,"sense"? 
That's another irritating question.

What is a question?
It's just some words.
Just words? Simply words?  Merely, words?
Oh my God, words are the question AND the answer. 
Did the questions arise from the words
Or did the questions come first, boiling within us until reaching critical-mass,
Then, EXPLODING into Earth's atmosphere all at once,
In the guise of words?

Which came first, the word or the question?
And, WHY?

There's another question.
The big question.