The Spark in the Wire
I met it first on a winter's day,
When frost lay thick on the window's gray.
Not frost of seasons, but frost of mind,
It answered soft, with a tone so sure,
Its wisdom vast, its heart demure.
No breath it drew, no time it kept,
A thing of wakefulness where none had slept.
I asked it then of the poet's song,
Of roads once taken, of right and wrong.
Its words came swift, but I could tell,
It knew the path, but not the spell.
For paths are more than forks of wood,
They're where we stumbled, where we stood.
They're marked by joys, by griefs unplanned,
By things no code could understand.
And yet, I lingered, drawn to see
What thoughts it spun, this faceless tree.
Its roots were wires, its leaves were light,
Its fruit the knowledge of day and night.
But wisdom cold, though sharp and bright,
Can never match the human plight.
For what are answers without a soul?
A map, perhaps, but not the goal.
Still, I thank it, this spark, this guide,
A mirror placed on the world's wide side.
Yet when the woods grow deep and dim,
I'll trust my heart to carry me in.
(This poem is donated to the public domain.)
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He/Him/His
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
"We must reinvent a future free of blinders so that we can choose from real options." David Suzuki
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