Elusive, Intrusive, and True.

You slippery incline, you bottomless pit,

Or unending staircase, or unceasing lift,

The moment I grab you with dirt mucky hands,

You slip, and I catch you again.

There is no one dimensional painting or tool,

Because one is in essence and forever dual,

There are only pairs of threes, ancient trinities,

And there is only ever expanding.

We are a brick in the grand pyramid,

And there are bricks high and below,

Still God is the bricks both ego and id,

The all, and the seen, and the shown.

I am the man flicking at coins spinning on grey table tops,

Watching Sir Washington tell me the truth and waiting for my response.

Behind him are buildings that we do despise,

Behind him are people that only tell lies.

I am dual and a part of a One,

Still God is this and The-Hasn't-Begun,

And we take our boxes, and grab all our soap,

And tell people they must clean up.

There are truths that are truth, and I cannot argue,

There are truths that are pure, and I bare no dissent,

But to tell you the truth, we know but very few,

Still we lord the uncertain like law over Jews,

As we claim to know the One-Hundred-Percent,

Brother be humbled and know that truth is elusive, intrusive, and true.