Words After Breakfast
Each morning, he would
reach for his Book of Truths, read aloud;
His unwavering conviction riding
The waves of holy words, surfing
Against the sounds of silence
Assaulting the mind, salting my soul
With the terror of not knowing.
That crucible of fear, where
Attentiveness to his efforts was proved
By recollection of some slip of text, detached
From context, meaning, reason
Taught a fateful form
Impressing neural pathways
Into the service of arrogance
And ignorant proclamation.
The rooted fear of being revealed
empty mouthed in the fateful moment
Needing to recall, to know, to have an answer
Inhibits inquiry and learning
Stimulates impassioned waves of novel holy words,
Unmindful to the central truth––
Isn’t asking always better than most telling?