In love our problems dissolve
When matched by that sense of understanding
That in all of us is waiting to be found
As the truth, borne upon the breathe of the eternal,
Is heard by the pure-hearted, plodding pilgrim.
Always we go on creating networks in the brain,
Conceptualising every strain, to be able to say
That death is neither the beginning nor the end;
Only a transient stage where re-shuffled cards
Leave behind a pool of genes
From which successive lives are shaped.
The mind, examining itself
Can delve up sweet memories, silently recalled
And yet, with evil’s ready, welcome hand
Who chooses truth to try and understand?
In the grip of life’s frenzied appetite
We only experience relatives
having been dealt a hand of absolutes.

June 1998