It had become the hardest task of all.
Eating a bit of leftover tamale, the rain roaring under the tires of the cars passing on the interstate beyond the open window. Nuisance. Nerve-wracking. Needless. Never-ending.
Analytical problem of the highest magnitude complicated by unreasonable emotions.
There is nothing that makes the deepest mysteries solve themselves.
Why love? Why not love.
Why hate? Why not hate.
Why suffer? Why not suffer.
Why hopeful? Why not hopeful.
There were infinite answers for who, what, when, how,
that all satisfied and could be described,
but the condemning Why never goes away.
(Mincing past it so as not to awaken it from its fitful slumber still it howls.)
The volumes written, the coffee spilled, the rhetoric proclaimed, the ancient wisdoms plumbed, the theologies died for, the institutions achieved, the mindsets unmoved, the theories evoked, the beliefs sullied,
still nothing removes the Why.
As the flowers in their vase softly withered and the teacup became stained,
the rain continued its fall and the Why remained.