The Philosopher by the Creek

in my town
a notorious philosopher sat on the wall
along the bike path by the creek

shouting at passersby that
we aren’t capable of understanding
why anything exists

he’d sneer
good luck
trying to solve it all

and we’d ignore him
like the zombies
he knew us to be

he spoke of the futility
in searching for meaning
in the isolated collisions of particles

the townsfolk would nod
or wave
out of politeness

a few stopped to talk
and to those liars
who dared claim they had answers

he hurled bottles
onto the sidewalk
by their feet

as I rode over the broken glass
he asked me
do you find spirit in moving air?

in shifting water? in entropy?
is truth hiding in the dull minutia
that powers our very hearts?