Mosaic

Enter the arena of enquiry as a subject,
Record the event, speak about it,
Arrange chips of broken glass
And the ashes of burnt pages, in revelations.
Opinions everywhere. What to believe in,
Is written and rewritten, not only to consider
For what end or vested interest,
Not only for moments of understanding,
Tiny Eureka's and striving sound bites,
All of nothing whole.
Also incomplete are the lists of names,
Carved on mountains of marble or stone,
Each individual name, a marker, a sculpture
At Menin Gate, Miami, Hiroshima,
Names standing in solid stone, each a life story.
This, is something felt ' the history of it;
A dawning of why and how beliefs held,
Have carved us up.
There is no denying it.
We are who we are.
As for what we believe, we should chisel out
A lifetime's work in sculptures of dust;
Watch dissipating pearls and imagine
All the possibilities as they fall away.
When making art,
I'll judge it next to a memorial wall of names,
Stand, in front of the stone, a work in progress,
and carve out mine.

(c)nickygoodman