foul clothes need cleaning soon,
holes need mending in my heart.
Pick a plan, a string of circumstance,
figure it all out before you're done.
I just wish I could've had the chance
to consult before I'd begun.
Sit down with the unmoved mover
and ask why we must maintain,
a state of perfection for him to maneuver
in the realm of our senses again.
Just a word, a glimpse, a sign
would be more than enough,
but when the only voice is mine
it makes it rather tough,
For me to get an accurate view
of what life should be,
of what's really true.
They say he lived among us
for thirty three some odd years,
and they're awfully zealous
concerning the resurrection that relieves all their fears.
I've examined what they call evidence
and there's some compelling reasoning,
but it's tough to tell the difference
between inherent logic, and wishful thinking.
The latter clouded my judgment
so it seemed to all make sense,
I wanted to find contentment
so I put up a weak defense.
For now I'm content not knowing
the underlying nature of reality,
where we came from, where we're going,
and what the sense of it all might be.