Certainty is a lost paradigm,
a leaf in the maelstrom of life,
an inspired hope to deliver us to comfort,
but never definitive in reality.
With it we make decisions,
but at no time believe in it completely,
always knowing that life is rarely a straight line,
each second of time leading to endless tangents.
Yet we always rely on it,
a chance agreement in hypothesis,
broadly assumed and hope attuned,
yet a coin toss nonetheless.
The greatest certainty in life
is uncertainty, and that irony is withstanding,
its truth rife in life’s simplicity of complexity,
a rationale I shall not pursue.
In belief we banter that word,
certain of this or that, knowing its a lie,
and impossible to know otherwise,
when impossible become possible so often.
Life then is a complex array of assumptions,
beliefs unknowable, truth expressed as certainty,
for our own sanity, to endure,
and the hope we are right, our choices our plight.
Logic prevails, assessment our only course,
and informed judgement adorns the paths of our life,
blindly speculating and creating steps
to redemption or recompense.
Yet certainty is in the vernacular,
used daily so confidently,
our bravado of belief and movement,
and in that we rise or fall, slump or stand tall.
Certainty is a commitment
we cannot really make,
but life is a game, a risk in constant flux,
and we the puppets of what we must,
to secure the beliefs in which we invest,
never knowing the outcome.
What a ride life is.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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