Three Lights

One room with two windows gives three kinds of light.

Both shadow and sunshine when we open the blinds.

But the third, that's the one that persists through the night--

It’s the wave of raw reverence in a young boy’s delight.

He asks how the world gives conflicting accounts,

"Why's the left get the sun while the right gets the clouds?"

And the wonder lies still in his question awhile.

Just to notice two truths that cannot reconcile.

His confusion, a shortcut to old lives of wisdom.

Through the eyes of this child we can enter the kingdom.

Ah, the words in the good book never echoed so true!

He inherits it all when he fails to assume.

He stands in one spot to see two contradictions,

Lifting his feet as they warm from the the friction.

And it's making me realize how I’m growing tired.

Alive in this life, but no longer inspired.

Mystery comes and I brusquely refuse it.

Convinced I know all to know, the rest is illusion.

And with that truth comes wisdom of its own device--

Another three contradictions I’m forced to confront:

I want to teach but not be taught.

I want to fight but not be fought.

I want to seek but not be sought.

For sensed is what reaches my place in the room.

But if I don’t look around I’ll accept that too soon.

I'll go thinking my neighbors all have it the same -

Forgetting the sun has direction and shape.

A cumulus gently can drift to eclipse it.

Leaving some parts enlightened and some that resist it.

The location informs how it radiates space.

'Cause Know the other: naught but positional grace.