This poem written thanks to the talents and generosity of poet and artist Rick Mobbs and the inspiration of his painting fibonacci .
The mind struggles to ponder,
That which it has always contained.
The soul is everlasting searching,
For the place from where it came,
We see without true vision,
We hear without understanding.
We think without comprehending.
The simple truth is not grand design,
The reality of this being,
The reality of human passage,
Becoming nothing more than dust,
To be born again in Creation’s Cusp.
Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour