Traces of mystery
flow on thru the ages.
At once it is history,
is preserved in the pages.

    Children, are taught, about their religion.
    Catechism, Sunday School, they learn to believe in.
    Nuns, elders, they do it so well,
    teaching, explaing, the sage they sell.

    Kids, questions, how can it be?
    From somewhere, He came, He didn't just see.
    Always was, will be, is what they will tell you.
    Question, answers, just serve to impel you.

    Some, believe, they see it throughout.
    Others, search, continue to doubt.
    Aging, older, rambling on to the end,
    believers, searcher, they follow a trend.

      Friends, together, a reunion of sorts,
      laughing, talking, the subject deepens of course.
      Two, believers, they give one a vision,
      startle, awaken, with just a suggestion.

    Time, what if, it has no real meaning,
    inventions, of man, used since our weaning.
    Also, they add, and this is the one thing,
    for ever, from ever, there never was nothing.

    Light bulbs, ideas, explode thru the mind.
    Truth, reasons, become easier to find.
    Always was, will be, isn't much clearer,
    but the questions, answers, are now coming nearer.

    Essence, being, the one who is He,
    teachings, learnings, now doubters can see.
    Origins, roots, from whence did He come,
    from somewhere, somehow, the beginning of One.

    Light, flashing, coming into focus,
    time, nothing, just hocus pocus.
    The awakening thought, and the one to look deep in,
    it says a whole lot, there never was nothing.

Traces of Mystery
flow on thru the ages.
The results are less murky
as we live thru the pages.

Doug Crandall

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