This Life, O, This Life

This life, O, this life
That none can claim to understand
Nor can I lay such a claim to it
Though some do say
They have cracked its puzzle
Yet the paths they show
How many followed
Or how many can follow
While some say there’s no path
I, too, can say with mild trepidation
There can be no path
What path can there be
Between pot and clay
Yet we continue on
Following someone or the other
Some scripture or the other
Thinking something will get us there
How cowardly we are, how scared
Life itself seems to scare us
Refusing as it does to yield to anyone
Any meaningful final pronouncement
That could encapsulate what it is
In this milieu of exasperating fog
We fumble and tumble and tremble.