My mother was a writer of poems and submitted some to local contests. She never received a mention that I know of, and always told me how she HATED those that won, with poems that made no sense to her. Maybe the following poem that I wrote is the same and she is grinding her false teeth as I speak, from the hereafter; don’t know……

 

Life’s Questions 2016-13

 

The equation in life is but a paradox,

 

It sits on the verge of reality.

 

A balance, a draw either way,

 

From knowing or being lost in a void.

 

 

Multitudes of signals transpire,

 

With highlights of supposition.

 

The answer is but opinion,

 

One to be recognized for what it is.

 

 

It remains, as to who really knows all things,

 

Of life, with its totality of questions.

 

Who is to know what reality really is

 

From an existence that has so many inconsistencies?

 

 

Den Betts   (More at Questions in Life 2015-112)