Mystery

Beauty walks most meaningfully in silence, for it contains more than can be said.

Yet comprehension to Wisdom belongs, as Innocence is abandoned in the dark.

Knowledge fails, in the end; for it has limits that Mystery makes clear.

And Time spirals as it varies in frequency and force, but nonetheless speeds inexorably toward the abyss.

For as much as is seen, and understood, and known, and lived, there is an eternity beyond our reach that deigns to show itself ever so rarely.

Wishful comprehension or the incidence that coincides?

At once inexplicable; on reflection rationalized.

But the borderland cannot be denied, even if only at the end.

Wonder awaits in the unexpected moment and, as a lightpost in the dark, illumines.

If such hope belongs to the fool, it is nevertheless lived;

in a world of heartbreak, the ecstasy of a brief journey on the path in search for
the innocent mystery of the ineffable.

 

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