To the Unknown

Our joyous friend who mocks us not, but shrouds us with each doubt that we have gathered lovingly, and now confront with helpless resignation-- it is a paradox that blesses with a truth unwelcome; every answer flys from us, condemned by virtue of its birth. It is vanity that feeds us, sets the winnowing blade yet finer still. Thought no longer is our refuge; Power, our only quest. We are the keepers of the day...wait... The mist upon the mountain stirs a moment. There is the pinnacle! stark, alone, silent ever... Let it go. ~