The truth is, an infantís breath is the truth,
or closest our species will ever see.
Beneath thoughts and feelings the truth of youth,
lies in insight that truth is what we be.
Nothing more, nothing less. No, not what works,
nor our need to civilize and survive,
but what in our flicker of a life lurks
deep, rhythmic, and breathes that I am alive.
Todayís breath hearth, born in infant ember,
burns time into fire of irrelevance,
where what is essential to remember
is nothing but joy of a mindís silence.
Beyond your retort to these above lines,
the truth is still what a childís breath divines.