Knowledge Of The Senses Poem by Raymond Anyanwu

The daily suns are seldom marvels.
But at view the furtive is meekness.
And gifts are likely to dropp link with their origin;
Our living can spawn disconnection
That detach ourselves from what we perceive.
However, nothing is more indigenous
Than what severs the action from the act.
Or plunders what is for and what is not.
Or compels our eyes to decipher what remains a mystery.
The creature of sensation, hope is not.
Nor marvel the work of only days.
Nor can faith be founded on conviction
Uncontained by habit and knack.
The knowledge of the senses is conception
Sparked by a truth that sense deceives,
As faith surfaces entirely from earliest fiction,
Holding silent business with the heart.