The Hard Questions

Condesation from the glass 
drips onto my bare knee.
The water droplets are still
and perfectly round.
Their undisturbed peace intrigues
this disillusioned child.
Nothing is that safe and well.
I rake the wetness with my hand,
destoying the little prisms that
provoke my analytical state
and laugh at myslef and the 
stupidty of thought-provoking 
water, because it all
seems too simple.
Life cannot be as facinating
as one would like to think.
You are born, you breath
once, a million times, then 
never again.
And your death is mourned by those 
who shared in your breaths
your laughter
your tears
But there I go again fixated 
on another point of a drab life
in a world with countless
others just like me.
I would like to ask where
and how it will all end
tie this all up with a sweet cliche.
But I don't really care
This little blue orb will spin 
even after I'm gone so
I'll let some other jilted soul
ask the hard questions.
As for me
I wonder if the ice in my glass holds
meaning like the water is will become.

Back to Haven