A Prospector For Truth
I’m just a relic; seeking eternal truth;
in a realm where truth rarely exists;
thoughts, desensitized by dry vermouth;
lonely; longing for a passionate kiss.
A prospector; well beyond my youth;
in search of rare treasures of gold;
a wordsmith, of sorts; as well as a sleuth;
my love can’t be bought or sold.
Love is the oxygen, breathed by my soul;
in time’s essence; all will run out;
one step at a time; truth is my goal;
discovering what life is about.
Love, for many, is a pleasant excursion;
much like a walk in the park;
transforming into a temporary diversion;
some find a new love, after dark.
Love isn’t meant a choice to be idly taken;
it’s designed as a constant battleground;
to the core of their being; both will be shaken;
through conflicts; all truths are found.
Most seek out truth, by appearance’s surface;
God doesn’t exist; they are told;
for them; true love has no reason; no purpose;
on lies; the multitudes, are sold.
In this deeply flawed world; truth is still found;
but, only by seeking the Father above;
divisions and hatred continuously abound;
only through God; can we find love.
Monty 2/16/24. # 2,005