The Smith

For every set of windows given, another lies so near As opaque the set of two may be, the third is crystal clear Unlatching the transparent one requires just one key Upon our lifelong search for it we stumble endlessly As we approach, the Locksmith surely forges newer paths On which the weight of memories lie that signify our past We must repurpose these narratives we adopt to self-deceive Into a deftly sewn together robe of equanimity This peace of mind that cloaks a vessel born of dirt and clay Will dissolve the first two windows, allowing perfect peace to reign Only then will human fragments once called yours and mine Come together as one body, perfect and divine As united we once were, before we came to be United we will come again, without a missing piece Furthermore, becoming whole is just another step Along the path some thought, as fools, ended with our death At some distant point, far away, eternity draws close The problem of that holy gate, we dare not diagnose As the secrets within that point lie in between the panes That constitute the third window embedded in the brain Do not concern yourself at all with what is in the glass As all will become made aware before the final task Instead concern yourself with life, our one and only gift Apply the Golden Rule with faith and strive to know The Smith