Where is the truth in this world?
Does it knock on the door,
When it feels ready to enter
Or does it sneak into the heart
When it is ready to reveal?

Truth, so utopic
As it is to reach the farthest stars.
It overcomes the multiple bars
Seems as yet too metaphoric

Behind the garden of truth
You stand and watch the flowers bloom
But cannot open the floodlit door
Though the heart is seeking for the key
While truth remains still in the mystic breez.