mystery like the wind
chill to the bone
guessing never wins
for the wind
come and gone
places like some faces
never shine
never known
mystery just a mystery
carry on
carry on
no to be owned
on and on
not to be friend
on and on
pleased to be alone
on and on
mystery has no witness
for the wind
as it roams
and then
Mystery
quiet and still
is gone
Sometimes I love a good mystery and I don't always feel the need to unravel it, Silence is good, at times its very comforting, thanks for sharing your poem Chester
There's a lot of mystery out there. Making people curious about what really happened.
What's really sad though, is when a mystery seems to be solved by a legend and then, is found out to be something entirely different after scientific investigation.
For example, a man convicted of murder from eyewitnesses. Mystery solved. Twenty years later, DNA proves without a shadow of a doubt that another man did the crime. How do we pay back the men who served 20 years for falsely thinking that he was the one who solved the mystery.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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What's really sad though, is when a mystery seems to be solved by a legend and then, is found out to be something entirely different after scientific investigation.
For example, a man convicted of murder from eyewitnesses. Mystery solved. Twenty years later, DNA proves without a shadow of a doubt that another man did the crime. How do we pay back the men who served 20 years for falsely thinking that he was the one who solved the mystery.
Ron