A child born pure and wise
‘til adults, determined, would revise.
Themselves victims of those before,
they set about to create one more.
Their infant memories less than scant
with good intentions spewed their cant.
What else could they have done
not knowing that we are one?
Separate, apart, survive or die,
their argument to support the lie!
Oh, some know the truth, I must confess;
curiosities they are, among the rest.
Yet most, a singular vision share;
get through the day, from here to there,
to survive, stay alive—the common goal,
avoiding questions that confront the soul.
Still, could theirs not be the natural state,
at which we and others may arrive late—
another scheme, a greater theme,
than those, thus far, we can glean?
Ah well, as Don Quixote once did spin:
“The road is better than the Inn”
and so it is for me. Roads twist, turn,
rise, fall, divide, converge, and I yearn
for more, seeking the roads of life,
the dance of life … the mystery of life …
the joy of life!
So it is for me …
Copyright © 2005 Robert D. McKinley
All rights reserved.