A thorough explanation would not be forthcoming.
Not in all the ages of our lives,
Though we asked in ten thousand ways.
And when we gave up the asking, the waiting,
And searched instead through senses and intellect,
We again felt captured.
Something there is that rings in us.
That fires us, and awes us, and makes us breathe.
Makes us clasp ourselves, in, with, and through
Then leaves us.
So we create our glorious radiant sets of symbols,
Shining, and in shadow.
Our mantel, both displaying and beshrouding;
Do we dare to crackle free of it?
And rephrase that implanted question?
And recognize forever
The Will that in the primal formed us,
Has forever fired us,
And has forever, though it seems to beckon,
Been our own?