Mama told me to keep her close.
Certainty provides clarity.
So I give her my hand,
And in barter, I quest a true friend.
I have a doubt, I turn to Certainty,
But am met with the silent treatment.
I press further,
Only to be reduced to resentment.
I wonder. How can this be?
Desertion in times of desperation?
Certainty, existing and non existing, remains an illusion.
A body, that will never affirm any supposition.