12. Source

When do we begin, become aware of the journey?
No more content with the zeal of our youth
When do we unfold no more hear the fresh echoes
Of words we no longer can reckon as truth?

Are we the source of our givings, misgivings?
Are we the ones not known at address?
We set out all knowing but soon are bewildered
Are we much more, are we much less?

Taking our first steps in a strange new direction
Then scuttle back at the first sign of doubt
Pushing ourselves off we push ourselves under
Yet we believe that our truth will have out

Why then do we search to find a natural justice
When all that we seek is a pulse beat away?
Passion and compassion, the calls are unending
How can the rich have become the new poor?