And candles in the air,
Burning paper lights over our heads:
There is something we can touch in life,
Beyond ourselves and each other.
But all we see are abstractions of the world
Played by photons in our eyes,
And the blind can tell us,
There is more to us than reflections of light.
There is more to us
Than wavering air echoing through our ears,
Than nervous impulses racing through our skins,
Than hungers, desires, and philosophy,
Than what we know and what we can learn.
This is why Truth can't be seen by our eyes:
We only see pictures made of light,
And Truth is no image.
