POEM: Agnostic

You grow weary of all the questions in your head,
afraid that there are no answers;
and afraid that there are some.
Your questions commit you.
But you are already committed
to other engagements, other routines.
Thinking gets in the way
and yet, the questions remain.
You're always wanting some measure of what they bring
too aloof to really invest in them. And so your
skepticism is not pure. It remains
self-interested.