Who DIDN’T know?

 

“Who does know?”,

he asked himself curious:

curious to know the answer:

curious to discover the covered-up plan.

And then it was when he

realised quite exactly

how much, and how many, and how

often, and how plenty, the covered-up plan

had covered up their lives.

For the question he needed to ask wasn’t

“Who knows?”:

the question he needed to ask was

“Who doesn’t know?”

 

 

And then in the end – “Fuck it!” he said to himself –

he didn’t really care to care:

he’d learnt to live in a fabulous bubble:

he’d learnt to see his being was free

because the free being he’d become

was the heart,

was the [he]art,

was the soul he had so[u]l[e]d:

not to the devil but to the angels instead.

And for the first time in his long and

curious life, he’d fallen in love with the

practice of love.

He’d discovered the value,

the importance,

the significance.

He’d discovered the emotion,

the motion,

the truth of it.

He’d discovered that whatever people

he loved now would say,

he knew what he felt – and was proud

of …

 

… his

ways.

 

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