I don’t know

I don’t know
who blows the wind or spins the earth,
or tickles a baby till it makes the cutest cackling laugh;

I don’t know
who put wings on an eagle or flippers on a whale or horns on a bull or breasts on a woman;

I don’t know
who made the stars shine so amazingly in the night sky,
or who gave such wondrous gifts to artists and authors and architects and actors and Bach and Beethoven and Brahms and the Beatles and Beyoncé,
or who made the hearts of so many so conniving and callous and cold and cruel;

I don’t know
who fills the summer with salty sea-breeze air, kids splashing in the pool, young lovers in sensuous embrace,
or who fills the summer with bomb blasts, AK47s, IEDs, and the shrieks and cries of fathers or mothers who’ve just seen their daughter’s or son’s face blown into a thousand bloody bits of flesh and brain and tongue and skin and teeth and skull and eyes;

I don’t know
who wrote all the cryptic secrets in a book no one can really understand,
or who decides who should be a billionaire and who should starve in Darfur,
or who should be a Caesar and who should be gassed to death at Auschwitz;

I don’t know
if God is the Wizard of Oz fumbling around behind a big red curtain,
or Charles Manson making his Helter Skelter followers
kill
and kill
and kill
and kill
in His Holy Name,
or the Godfather blessing those who kiss His ass and putting a bloody horse’s head next to some poor sleeping schmuck whose only sin was not showing the Big Man all due respect;

I don’t know,
I just don’t know…

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“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool..” – William Shakespeare, As You Like It

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