Broken Pieces, Broken Lines

We read in places,
hearing stories heard before..
In this, a white space..

We know the story,
knowing it well
(without the prequels)
But what if..if you saw it all,
could you be content
to return now and to forget?

Could you go on
without knowing
any.. a thing..
about the People
that came before?
Is the story still whole?
(or only when a sum of its parts)
Are those broken pieces
still worth putting together?

What if that
broken mosaic
creates
a web of confusion and
frustration
even when complete..
where lies
pieces of unknowable facts?
and what if the past is full
of ugliness
and nothing good?

Nothing good.
Two-faced: the white space kills
the songs and stories
drowned out, die.
questions unanswered.
sigh
and moan,
"Why would we want to know,
other than
to understand?"

Do we need to understand,
if the understanding
is nothing
but pain
and frustration?
and here we wait,
in this questioning place.
Do we need to know?






Am I any less broken if I know?