We are born with no truth,
Told to speak no less than truth,
Taught truth as though none but one are so,
Pushed to know our own truths,
Moved to note all truths, yet urged to voice but few truths
And thought lost for lack or doubt of truth
And so our grasp rests frail on the thin of a short string
And so we lie down our cheeks to still,
Where dime is saved and pride is soothed
And so our tongues crave ease,
And our ears wait in check for the last act
And so we join with the lost,
Where loss is flaw,
And a loud void holds more ground than a sound need to know
To feign sight is to cap the rise and step
As I press my face to the glass,
The push of crazed haste in flight,
Awe seems a small word in the face of a vast and wild reach
With bounds not yet in sight,
It seems strange that we would claim to fill it

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