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In Search of Reality

Reality is an essence in itself,
And not the way it seems.
It's been clouded by the issues
Till it's rarely ever seen.
We cloud it in ambitions and desires,
And material affluence,
And in steeples and in spires,
And pecuniary thoughts
Of the people that we see
And the feelings that we hold
While we're slowly growing cold
In the anteroom of time.

Standing all alone
Like a beacon in the night
Of purest crystal to our sight,
Beyond the fogginess of thought
And the sacrilege of flight,
Glows the symbol of the Light,
Burning passageways of truth
Through the civilized retreat
Of our rational deceit
And our sacrifical rite
To a God who will not care
Till we recognize our plight
And search until we're blinded by the Light.

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