Sunday, August 31, 2008


The highest urge of our intelligence
Is seeking meaning or else making sense.

The first supposes something’s to be found,
A purpose planted in our being’s ground
That grows into the knowing of each soul
Who searches for what makes it true and whole,
And thus one’s meaning is self-realized.

The other way assumes sense is devised:
That any meaning, purpose, destiny
We come to comprehend in what we see
Are self-determined functions of our wills,
Since we ourselves prescribe our goods and ills.

Here, now, at last, we look for resolution;
This couplet, though, won’t clear up our confusion.