The one moment of error is to act as if
science is the language of the soul.
As if life depended upon the logical seen with no
witness to all that stirs within unknown.
To feel as if life had boundaries that existed
that could be defined or observed.
Surely, even you, have felt something beyond;
the ephemeral, the stirrings, and the song of the heart,
crowding out all that is known; the illusions of a world.
Facts are the modes of knowing but only poets
pierce deeply into the soul. Boundaries do not exist in a
rebels voice. A voice from the dark night of the soul offering
The soul is your mentor of things to come,
The door has always been there to frighten you and invite you,
through the doorway of divinity
that has always been open and waiting for you.