Charade

never know the ebb, the flow

questions that are never clear

and answers that mean even less

as if a game of charades has begun

but it is all the more impossible blind-folded

and with hands tied behind you

what meaning, what intention, what will

is to be gleaned from subtle words?

how can we suppose the dark clouds

will go away when expectations crumble

and the fickle ones change their minds

each day, each hour, each minute

there is no free will, no certainty

it is all balled up ready to be shot from a cannon

and we are so lucky not to be hit by it