In the endless search for authenticity,
We may look past
The answers
Right in front of us.
It glares unabashedly,
Daring us to submit.
The stuff of which stuff is made.
Still it lies, it needs not--
It simply waits.
We may resist,
Heads turned in fear
Of what we might lose,
Or what we might gain.
But alas. In giving in,
We choose life.
And what was once still,
We now witness expand.
No longer do we stand at odds.
The glare ceases, for now
We see through the same eyes.
The emptiness is filled.
Behold,
It is all real. It is all beautiful.
