Way Lenn - Questions

There are question marks
That hang like hooks,
And every now and then
That dot at the end will drop
Like a penny, another thing realised.

They are often just that,
Marks, imprinted on us;
Like scars, like wrinkles
Or like rings on a tree,
The age-old questions.

Every new generation lives with these,
Watches them hang,
Sees them on their skin.
Every new generation, another ring,
Widening the circle of thought.

Way Lenn

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/questions-219/