Living on the periphery

Of an enduring mystery

It’s no accident we turn away

Few know of the hideaway

Where the spring emerges

Underneath all our urges

In that deep pristine flow

There is no false glow

A faint light in the darkness

First seen in stillness

Which cannot be bought

We’ll be tainted and caught

The mystery will remain

It ours to ascertain

Whether we are real or not

The answer isn’t in a thought