Four-fifths a Sonnet
The question still will not abate,
for what is form and what is fate
that we should scry and correlate
effect and cause? This chain of states
we seem to be, when glimpsed in time
subjectively, in which we find
no start, no end. Instead, a kind
of thread, conditioned cause, that winds
in both directions. Morn and eve
are linked, entwined, each to leave,
arrive, or stay--however brief.
No sooner spring's than autumn's leaf.
Do we persist? Were I to guess
an answer, I'd say no...and yes.