Like chickens feed, most people wait for thought
to come, that they may nibble, scratch and peck.
To learn, much less ascend, truth must be sought
like gold and gathered, sometimes fleck by fleck.
If fully nine of ten are walking dead
with hearts to never know all-loving Grace,
whose spirit for a billion years has bred
their very bones from dust of time and space,
then where are you, which barnyard is your grave?
what brain-dead fantasies yet break your wing?
The illusions to which you still are slave
insure you never learn a useful thing
to fund the quest to know Infinity
as father to your Soul's divinity.