Wanting Answers to the Unanswerable

Forgive my prattles, but I have questions,

Questions which prod for days like gnats

Remaining unanswered in satisfactory,

For even if the answer is grim, I’d rather

Rather have an acrid dish of fermented fish skin

Than to drive circles in the ground.

And forgive my credulity and haste

For a fault I’ve succumbed to

Is trading dignity for any answer,

As long as it’s a confident guru

And claims freedom, a place which can’t be known.

Let me then be, if none have answered,

A satisfactory delight dipped in flowery water;

[words] which settle nicely like a sauté

After the sauce and spices added.

Now, is it wrong to wish truth delivered to my doorstep?