When I was a young man my friends and I would scratch our names on the bottoms of rocks and then throw them into the water. We would all dive in and
attempt to find our own and be the first one to the surface. They all had to be approximately the same size and shape. Sometimes, in haste you would
bring up someone else's stone and you would have to throw it back in and dive down again to find your own. We would do it until our longs burned. We
never asked ourselves why we did it or what was the reason.
Is the nagging question the ultimate question?
What about all the what ifs and whys that trouble the surface.
Are we swimming desperately to keep from drowning?
What if we stopped our struggle,
would we find ourselves in waist deep water.
Is the answer written on the bottom of a rock tossed in,
when youth still paid dividends and we were buoyed up by confidence?
I held my breath and dove to the bottom over and over again,
breaking the surface with expelled breath,
defeating death one more time.
Questions that scare my soul,
questions that turn off my bedroom light
The smell of paraffin, kerosene, and electricity,
sparking and arcing, moments of bright
light that only flickers in the night.
What if there is a reason for everything?
Then it doesn’t matter what if or why.
I would no longer have a right to question
or complain about my decision
or the decision of others.
Have I held on to things so tightly,
that I have squeezed the life out of them?
If I released them would they run from me
and grow in another person’s garden?
What if the reason has it’s own season.
What if I dive to the bottom and bring back a rock
and the name written on the bottom is not mine?
Do I have a responsibility to toss it back in
because it is not mine but thine?
Surely, there is a reason for everything.
edit on 06/02/2011 by grayeagle because: spelling