TRUTH ~ David Glassman ~ Truth is curling up like smoke above my shoulder. I turn to grasp it. My hands reach out and touch it; They are touched by truth, but they cannot possess it. Truth was once a brook playing a cool sweet tune. I knelt to drink of it, though I held no cup that could contain truth. Truth slipped my porous grasp and was yet not mine. Truth became an arch, multicoloured supporting the sky. At it I looked not But at the crowd foolishly trying to grasp this strange elusive thing. Then I realized that truth never existed for the only truth was the search. A truth is no longer such when man calls it The Truth. - David Glassman Copyright ©1972, David Glassman - All Rights Reserved