By Karl Carpenter
Of our condition little we know,
why do we find a high or low?
Where is it that our actions come?
Drives our gaze to ocean or sun?
We think we know so much about it,
could tell what we’d do to fit,
would disregard unclean authority,
reject the antics of inane polity,
but little we know and less we learn,
deluded by our pride unearned,
in ignorance born and ignorance dies.
The human who sees the light of it lies.