Poems are puzzles of thought;
ideas scrambled in the mind;
reality whispering what ought;
eternity, itself, defined.
Poets seek to uncover it all;
separate reality from fiction;
investigations; their call;
words; their only restriction.
Secrets of life for eternity;
and all realities, hidden;
seeking creation’s maternity;
from reality’s vault, forbidden.
The Master holds all information;
reality’s history, unfolding;
from its beginning creation;
truths, He’s simply withholding.
The lock on His vault is time;
for everything has its season;
eternity is reality, sublime;
and secrecy has its reason.
Waters of truth; like the river of life;
flow swiftly, like a babbling brook;
for Love is truly Reality’s wife;
a secret, only poets partook.
Waters flowing over rocks of time;
gently release the truths to uncover;
meant for the poets’ efforts, sublime;
all truths to eventually discover.