Essential Mystique Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Which question? That is the question—
which to ask, to whom, how and why.

Those which have ready answers
are immaterial, dry;

those that we can’t know before we ask
transcend the question mark

and ascend to the exclamation mark,
magnificent and stark. Cry,

for weeping is the expulsion
of confusion, a profusion

of prayers made liquid
and of fear made viscous,

melted queries gliding down
like beeswax on candle.

It is the not knowing
that we have to know.