A Poem for the Haunted

What is it like
To not be haunted
With big and dangerous questions?
Ambiguous, mysterious, eternal questions.

Don’t they pester you?
Don’ they find you in your car?
At your desk?
In the shower?

Doesn’t your pen
Find itself scribbling doubts
About things taken for granted?
Things hidden in plain sight

like;
How do jerks claim religious conversion
yet remain jerks for decades?
and
Oh God, am I a judgemental jerk for asking that?
and
Shouldn’t everyone just see therapists?
and
Why don’t more pro-lifers adopt orphans?
and
Why are we consuming our planet?
and
Does the Trinity dance to music?
and if so
Who gets to choose the track?
and
Why do I like poetry so much?
and
What has everyone else done
from 5 till 7 this morning
as I sat writing this
in conversation with the morning sun
who tells me those questions are old?

A POEM FOR THE HAUNTED
David Tensen

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