Poem: Answering to Myself

Answering to Myself

I must not turn away from the question,
not again.  I must find an answer
that is not the same one, that is not:
there is not an answer.  I have been told that
with so many of my own questions
and it is never good, is never right.
I must not do it to myself, again,
must not say there is nothing to be said,
though it feels that way.
I must sit in the place of not knowing
and perhaps that place is the answer itself,
the uncertainty may be it,
or it will draw me forward, perhaps?
I do not know.  I have no answer, now.
I will not allow there to be no answer.
Mystery, perhaps, (if I can) curiosity?  
Are those not better, even 
when still to be fulfilled?

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