Dialogue

It is a nagging subject,
this quest within the mind
to reach beyond the self to
that great universal churning
of the truth-- unfolding rays of light
we may not quite depend upon, yet
praise.  It does not go away.

One may be thankful. Truth
has a way of coming back.
Another self, autonomous, may then
step up, select a gleam, do with it
as the will dictates, and toss it in.
Caution!  The cauldron seethes;
belief is on the dock, tender, foetal,
vulnerable to scrutiny--not yet
worthy of the eyes of time.

It may still moil an instant
(or millenium) emerging as
an honored tool, or ignominious,
lost, unworthy, slipping
quietly away as it is found.

There you have it, an elusive servant
but our single hope of nurture
for an ever infant cry that resonates
throughout the ages:
Tell me why.
      ~