To the precipice and back We walk our measured blinded way Looking neither left nor right Or upwards to receive the day.
The world is filled with violence And we impotent turn away Or in the hour faith demands Kneel and of the moment, pray.
Are we then marionettes on strings Puppets pulled to our dismay Flirting with evil or fleeting good Acting out an unscripted play?
All is an arcane mystery, There seems no truth that we can say With certainty, 'This is the truth'; Desire and greed lead us astray
And the sameness of unending hours. Our lives, our dreams are but Time's prey Unless we turn to that within, The light of lights, the nameless Ray.
Poems Undated (1727)
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Narad
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