It’s been said
the eyes are the window to the soul.
Yet behind them
great mysteries still remain
the greatness and wretchedness of this man
love and grace, pride, and lust, flow through the same hand.
It’s been said
God helps those who help themselves,
yet what use is this God to the helpless?
Though I can reason right-wrong, evil and good,
my will being servant not master is understood.
It’s been said
love is blind, yet what a silly notion
of indifferences this must be,
for if these mysteries within me can never be known,
then I am darkness, an abyss, an unknown.
It’s been said
all men must die,
yet all I want to do is live.
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