...echoes
blind as we may
well prove to be
reflections
secondry information
the glove of live
that keeps us from
the feel of
a real touch
sense the vague cavern
the womb in which
we stumble and huddle
unknown, yet suspected
unacknowledged, yet full
and simultaneously
empty with poetential
once was the candle
the illusion of light
a call for expansion
but more important
was the warmth
the call to center
the truth, as named
by modern intellect
is but inference and deduction
of unattainable ceiling
and walls
be we truly lost, but for
that benevolent echo.