Things difficult to comprehend
reveal their nature, in the end.
Just take the Moon, what great disguise,
it's Mother Nature's compromise,
it fools you though, at times one spots
two entities, connect the dots
and you shall see that Moon and Sun
are clearly, in their essence one.
A fish flies through the morning air,
suggesting an amount of flair
and idiosyncratic flaunting
yet here, the truth is hardly daunting,
he flies because he is a fish
to learn this craft was his last wish.
Now, raindrops fall quite silently
until they do arrive, you see,
but as they land there is a bounce
it's meant quite simply to announce
that angels in the sky have seen
on earth another sinful scene.
So many things in life confuse,
it's easy to forget, to lose.......
to welcome frank complacency
and wallow in a shallow sea.
That fellow Popper knew the score,
he'd always analyse the core
in fact he wrote a book on it
which challenged folks of meager wit.
It is impossible he said
to speak (and nod your silly head)
so that you truly cannot be
misunderstood by you or me.
He also talked about a swan,
is white (the colour) just a con?
Or are all swans by nature white,
which presupposes, to be right
one would require that we view
all swans, and thus, until we do
we must restrict all theories
and also bold hypotheses.
For it is possible there is
somewhere out in some wilderness,
a single feathered one that's blond
or black, just swimming in a pond,
thus this would shoot to smithereens
a pre-formed view by simple means.
Take science, and what makes it grow,
it's not the stuff we'd like to know,
it grows by novel theories,
including false ones, if you please,
each new thought bears controversy
because one thinks it cannot be
that what we've known must be re-learned,
old books be in new fires burned.
However, I digress again,
my problem, on a scale of ten,
is nearly nine, I need to know
why things are utterly not so.
Drawn to a soul, my own has pledged
its convoluted, triple-edged
deep essence with no clauses set,
a minute after they both met.
These things, as you may know, occur
purely at random, as it were,
and, as a rule, they'll fade in time
for there are other peaks to climb.
Yet, how would one assess my case,
it never started with a chase,
I'll say that something precious fell
into my lap, but who can tell
what power caused this incident
and -more important- what it meant.
We know that any storm will die,
and that no eyes forever cry,
that pain must yield its stranglehold
and that some fossickers find gold,
all happenings will have an end,
yet leave behind some dividend,
so why can I not falsify
this thing I'd call my Lorelei,
to prove the fallacy as such
would not require very much,
at least that's what it needs to be
short of some strange infinity.
We measure, using trusted tools
yet end up standing there, as fools,
I have, dear fellows, now concluded
that in the past I've been deluded,
yet that the gods have deemed me fit
to suckle on the endless tit,
the one that lets me have the key
to bless-ed immortality.
Thus does this tale find its demise,
and leaves me, rather otherwise.