Inasmuch as thoughts do roam and wander,
I find my mind returns to simple things,
On which the intellect need not ponder,
And mar the gift of what the simple brings.
To know, noble, but thought will never tell,
When charmed, and magic incanted, does one,
Explain the casts or let enchantment spell?
When minds take rest, our harmony is won.
A restless mess this thought, a disturber,
Yet chants resound – the fields, a friend, a bay,
Callings to recall how love that we find pure,
Is brought, a grace given where we once stayed.
Between I am, by thought, caught, inasmuch,
Knowing nothing finds, know this and know much.
– a poem inspired by a conversation with a young man
outside the Christian faith, convinced his intellect would
carry him through life.
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