Tuesday, June 08, 2010
The Truth Seekers (poems)
THE TRUTH SEEKERS
I am trampling over every wisdom
just to kiss the face of love.
Eric Ashford
Nobody told us how to think
or what to believe.
Or if they tried, we didn’t listen,
busy with inner signals.
When we traveled,
we went our own way:
instead of compasses
we would simply sniff the air
and set our own course,
finding direction
like lost animals returning home.
Sometimes we went whistling along
with our hands in our pockets.
Sometimes we stumbled
over rock and rough clay,
falling forward to our knees,
bruising our hands.
But we always got up
and started again, cheerful,
knowing that
what we were looking for
was waiting up ahead,
shining and beautiful,
just as we had always pictured.
(from "A Cloth of Fine Gold")
