doubt

'hope against hope' they say
but don't they really mean 'hope against despair'?

I fiddle repeatedly with my own tiny word order
as if my life depended on it
but why?
writing out the ugliness?
or scouring the inadequate randomness of my thoughts
in search of a more elusive truth?
perhaps, because of my very average intelligence,
real truth is so far beyond my understanding
that silent acquiescence really would be the better option.

and having read that last a few times to let it sink in
isn't it the same with my music also?
and with my piano playing too come to think of it
yes I could play . . . sort of.
I made sounds
but did I ever really make music?
and I composed sounds too
but did I ever compose music?
will I ever know?
does it matter?