James McQuire

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Tiring Of Inquiring

What is this I see over there?
What is this wind in my hair?
Am I doomed to pursue memories lost?
Am I forbidden from the sweetened frost?
Should I wander and meander 'til end of day?
Should care for naught and go on my way?
How many questions must I ask?
How many can I answer in this endless task?
When will the end approach?
When will I the barrier broach?
Why am I here, inquiring at all?
Why am I here, willing to fall?

I grow weary of this interrogation,
Even from this location.
Were it to end, were it halt
Why, I would find no fault.
Yet the mystery persists
Shrouded in life's mists.

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