Who draws the subtle line that parts the facts from fiction?
Who debates what separates the history from prediction?
What is first? What is last, and guarantees the knowing?
Future may precede the past or "return" announce the going.
What is lost is thereby found and sun and rain are brothers,
Man is free when underground, though "dead" he is called by others.
"What you see is what you get" us a product of man's "wisdom."
But I have learned and cannot forget that what I have received is hidden.
Too simple is the creed of minds that screams the rules for taking,
the sleep and dreams and midnight schools were mine upon awaking.
Logic walks with awkward boots, to stalk and march to thunder,
love dances to the song of flutes in everlasting wonder....
Have we been or will we be? I cannot say from thinking,
is love a ship? or submarine? is success in sail or sinking?
Shall I go or shall I stay? not vital the decision;
For all I see and do and say is borne and fed by vision.