The Lingering of Doubt
Dan Pettee
It all begins in innocence...or maybe when
you take a byte of nearly news. All news destroys
the old, evolution writ small, the primal urge
supreme, just as that neat package of fact is undone,
its tissue tossed aside, thanks to a sudden surge
of nervous certainty, of ever newer ways
to conquer time. Oh yes, we’re egoistic to a man,
or woman, devoted to the primacy of us,
and doubt becomes, without our will, that slender straw
that builds a ladder, flaw by craven flaw
until the constructs all collapse in one great mass
of tries, good only for kindling, a fire to roar again
throughout the news. Oh, doubt, that little, helpless shiver
that comes despite itself to skew the hoped for view,
all glossiness and smiles. But doubt, the door ajar,
without a hope to know, with certitude, how far
away the key might be, shredding the slightest sliver
of hope that what you know might well be even true...
Dan Pettee
It all begins in innocence...or maybe when
you take a byte of nearly news. All news destroys
the old, evolution writ small, the primal urge
supreme, just as that neat package of fact is undone,
its tissue tossed aside, thanks to a sudden surge
of nervous certainty, of ever newer ways
to conquer time. Oh yes, we’re egoistic to a man,
or woman, devoted to the primacy of us,
and doubt becomes, without our will, that slender straw
that builds a ladder, flaw by craven flaw
until the constructs all collapse in one great mass
of tries, good only for kindling, a fire to roar again
throughout the news. Oh, doubt, that little, helpless shiver
that comes despite itself to skew the hoped for view,
all glossiness and smiles. But doubt, the door ajar,
without a hope to know, with certitude, how far
away the key might be, shredding the slightest sliver
of hope that what you know might well be even true...