Questions, questions

Questions, questions, rule the state

They come so easy, yet at such a rate

To be buried under them, is it our fate?

Many things would rather stay unborn

The deaths of the undead we shall mourn

The fabric of our existence, torn

Answers we need, but where to find?

Are the lost in the past we left behind?

Or locked away in the dungeons of our mind?

Moral, ethical, cultural they be

Sometimes, we’re blind to the answers we see

Sometimes we’d rather lose, than be set free

Questions, questions, questions abound

Yet one rises above the gigantic mound,

Do you even want the answers found?

Plus a sketch I made for this poem! :