I suspect the truth is overrated;
Alright for some, who can assume blithely
That the sun will shine and the crops will grow,
Who can stand in silence boldly facing
The watching eyes with their unknown judgements.
For the rest, does it help to know we die?
To be reminded of our impotence
In the face of the world’s horrors? to join
with crawling beasts in insignificance?
We may be faithless, unreliable
Witnesses, easily led to some fruit
Dangling by the roadside. lacking courage
To see the world through the eyes of others;
Yet, is not our blindness a kind of love,
And our gift for unreasonable hope
What exalts us to the realm of angels?