When Will I Know

I’ve exhausted Lincoln’s four score and seven.

I have found a few things that matter to me;

People I love, shoes that fit,

And warm, sunny days.

Your list may be longer or more profound.

In that case you win.

Perhaps you will share your insight, or

Are your truths more equivocal than mine?

Beyond statistics I’ve no feeling of mortality,

No reason to believe that insight

Is part of a birthright,

Or that my lack of deification precludes knowing.                   

I had a morphine moment,

That took me to a place

Where everything, EVERYTHING

Was transparent, and understood.

                                                                                                        

Its reality being too intense to sustain or repeat.                                      

I resigned myself to pleasantries                                    

That would subsume my being

And the moment passed.