Ancient Questions ~ Chase Twitchell

[bleodswean]

Why must I settle for myself
the ancient questions?

No one asked me to.

I look up. These leaves are the embers
of the peak: darker, more intense, finally

devoid of green, which I find more beautiful.

I choose between them. Why?
Are they not a single autumn?

I see that all questions collapse
into one, but what is it?

Why do I still not know its words?

The cold brook of striving talks to me at night.
It says, Wake up. Stop doing anything else.

Is that a calling? It's not an invitation.