the weakest power shouts a name,
and points to where the light should go.
the strongest power builds the frame
and watches how the currents flow.
it does not command the vine to climb,
it merely builds the sun-soaked wall.
it knows the art of knowing’s time
is just before the learned fall.

true thought is not a vault of facts,
a locked and solitary treasure.
it is the act that gently cracks
the shell to measure out the pleasure
of not yet knowing, but of making
a space where answers can take root.
a fertile ground for the awaking
of a tender, seeking shoot.

so let the old king on his throne
decree the what, the why, the whence.
the true mind seeks to be a bone
deep in the soil of circumstance,
that knows its purpose is to be
the structure hidden from the sun,
that gives the growing world the free
and necessary space to become.