Mystery of All Things

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The cut knows the razor's edge,
but a fatal lack of knowledge
is the core of truth's agony,
and its wounds weep painfully.

Time passes slowly,
drags itself across wastelands
of barren hopelessness.
A destitute world still clings
to the underbelly of reality,
the soft, white meat of being;
but it's a negative aspect
from which existence springs.

There's no bringing back time
that has passed, while in its wake
trail the questions of life, the ache
of ambiguity, still wondering
at the hidden meaning,
the mystery of all things.