Truth is a will-o-wisp that dances through time's camouflage
It gleams as a golden thread in life's cumulative canvas
Disappearing for a while it seems to have deserted us entire
But when least expected it comes back as we chose to retire
Truth's glimpses are not always welcome, sometimes salt to wound
When our preferences take predominance and illusion gains ground
The healing scalpel of reality is not of use to us at such moments
We are willing to bear searing pain instead of ending our torment
But the skein of purity is not sundered by neglect or harsh denial
It transcends birth and accompanying death, life's constant interval
What is lost in one phase is waiting patiently to return in another
Our ego doesnt survive the transition and thus causes us to bewilder
Unable to see the holistic, we love and hate in unequal measure
Holding one close and other at distance, with pain and pleasure
That which we hide and neglect causes great fear, and thus darkens
Truth's pure visage becomes clouded, and appears to us as fragments
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