A Foretaste of Glory

Sometimes, even when I seek it,
The epiphany scares me–
That coming into knowledge,
The fullness of mind and soul.

The accompanying joy
Is and always has been temporary–
A fleeting feeling, leaving me
Less sure, smaller, emptier.

The joy leaving is worse
Than the joy coming is good–
The small lift upwards
And the long fall to follow.

Beyond the barriers broken through
We find bigger boundaries;
We are dust specks seeking solace
Amongst a slew of saints and sinners.

My most significant insights
Have exposed my own insignificance–
Creating in me a vulnerability
Previously unknown, yet somehow pre-existent.

But would I rather rest here
In the comfort of ignorance–
Finding peace in pretenseful perception,
Content in stagnant imperfection?

Here, then, is the collision
Between madness and greatness–
The breakneck speed at which some find
The answers to questions they do not understand.

Our short lives accelerate the search
As we feel the impending end approaching;
We know our time on Earth is up
And the mysteries are yet unsolved.

So we beat on against the current wisdom
That tells us to rest; be satisfied–
Ceaselessly searching for solutions
Before our fragile minds are ready to receive them.

Yes, our momentary satisfaction
Often leads to a melancholic soul;
But so do many foretastes of glory
That make us yearn for its ultimation.