Through all the world to find the dawn, I look
For some iota where I might begin,
That in comparison could prove therein -
The rev'red words we've written in this book.
Or glean, in contradiction, how we took
Our lives to be so dull and dearly vain,
That good be good as only they'd explain,
And not by truth our wisdoms since forsook.
To what, should faith be giv'n? That which I read
Not thinking (good from bad or wrong from right) ?
Or could faith reconcile with disbelief
By laying all we've learned in firmer light:
For though 'tis written, it may still deceive -
How ancient burnish clears the dark of night.
-January 3,2006
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem