The composition of truth

Writing while biting the hook
Running not stopping to look
Was it all of me that was mistook

Here are my hands and I grabbed at the roof
Of my box and my breath and my proof
It is the ever and lasting nature of truth

It weighs more than it contains
A whole that is made up of grains

Levels of stem rust damage in wheat grain by CIMMYT, on Flickr

William Stonewall Monroe