The Last Question

  The Last Question

Written by Elizabeth A. Van Cleve

The bird asks,
Where shall I build my nest?
What shall I make it with?
When shall I rest?
When will these eggs hatch?
When will my peeps flee?
Where will they go
when they’ve parted from me?
What shall I eat next?
Where shall I fly?
How many days do I have till I die?

The tree asks,
When will the rain fall?
Deaths on the brink!
Where can I dig my roots for a drink?
Will this tempest soon pass?
My branches are aching!
When will the winds cease before I start breaking?
Where will these critters that live in me go,
If my days be shortened, I am sure I don’t know.
How many years will I stand in my glory?
Is there no soul who will treasure my story?

The man asks,
Where did I come from?
Where am I going?
How come the oceans and rivers keep flowing?
Why are the stars so far out of reach?
Why do they twinkle, what do they teach?
How deep are the waters?
What lies down below?
How many plants are there?
How do they grow?
What is this flesh and blood that is I?
Why is it breathing and why does it die?
Why can’t I see in the blackness of night?
Why do I tremble, when I feel fright?
What are these tears and this pain I am feeling?
Why do more questions come with revealing?
When will I understand all in perfection?
When will my knowledge exceed my perception?
When will I ask the very last question?
Will there e’er be and end to progression?

Were told,
Doubts generate questions,
Just trust and believe.
Then you’ll be happy,
You’ll find your reprieve.

But answers are living
They’re the ether’s obsession.
And the spark of life dies
In the absence of of questions.

Where did this all start?
And where will it end?
Who is the enemy?
Who is our friend?

How do I hold onto any possession?
What will be found in the very last question?

 

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