I look to you. I look to you. I look to you. My words rise and fall, pressured by weights too heavy. When words fail I look to you. Let your word carry what I can't. Your word pierces soul and spirit, judging thoughts of the heart. My words rise and fall. Let your word carry what I can't. Your word is alive and active, turning darkness to light. Your word is alive and active, creating things not yet seen.
O wandering heart of mine, I trace your tracks up this hill but I do not see where you go. Day and night you wander, paying little heed to burnout. Across all entrances and exits you dash simultaneously, drifting unreservedly. I trace your movements but only find traces of questions you leave behind. I cannot understand your tracks, they are unimaginably complex. I cannot number your steers, they are infinite in number. You disperse in prideful splendour to flounder in collective shatter. Your pride-filled ways mislead, moving but going nowhere precise. Your words are multi-minded, yet you push to enforce your will. You wail with outbursts of desire, yet, en route your solo dash, you desire nothing ultimately meaningful.
Why did this happen? This happens, that happened. I don't understand why that happened. I would be fooling myself, speaking out of utter arrogance if I claimed to understand why it did. If my choice was mildly out of place, I would be in a different place now. A different place may produce a different outcome, a different outcome may produce a different life. What if I made a different choice? In my pursuit of truth, I stumble upon a realisation of human finitude. I don't get to make all choices so I don't get to see all things. I don't get to see all things so I don't get to know all things. I feel humbled as I return where I started. I'll no longer ask why it happened, I'll simply acknowledge that it did.
Emmanuel Johnson 
