Sensemakers

Countless days, countless dreams

We've searched for His source, the infinite streams

Drawing inspiration from the endless twist

Of words we bend to suit our whims

Does it make sense to strike down a foe?

Or grab the biggest slice, and let nothing go?

Countless climbs, countless times

We've chased the source of endless signs

Without a thought for what's around

Ignoring the truth that's yet to be found

Does it make sense to bloom in the sun?

Or should I just start my own run?

Countless tears, countless years

We've sought His source through hopes and fears

Still unsure how the Artist could paint

A self-portrait with no complaint

Is there a nuance hidden in lines?

Or just the roll of dice, that confines?