The Why

Incessant comings and perpetual goings

Like tidal waves, ebbing and flowing,

Particles of God dotting vast stretches of the Devil;

A rent in time and a fold in space -

A crack in the mirror and a crease in the face -

Infinite realities flowing down a precipice

Of unknown height.

We wake up in the maddening light with choking lungs;

We scream in protest at the loss of the

Dark cushion, the enveloping warmth;

Falling through the infernal loop of the

What are we,

Where do we come from, and 

Where are we going, 

Are you, deafened by the trumpet of incoherent, but divine rage, coming any closer to

Ending the cycle of the

Where are you,

What are you doing here, and

The Why?

 Are you, Sisyphus?