can we touch, feel, the truth, can we see?
what is reality, is what puzzles me..

Is it
the artist swaying an elegant stroke?,
the beggar living in an eternal hope?..
the moth attracted to the light so bright?,
the pessimist lamenting his wretched plight?..
the dusk waiting for the sun to stay?,
the hummingbird flapping its wings away?..
the master enjoying the whiff of green?,
the priest singing an unending pean?..

what we see is what we believe,
though through a glass darkly, is what we perceive