It is not that I do not have
It is that I do not know.
Discovery like trickling water.
Answers upon a whim of intuition.
I could be jealousy.
Thus I confine myself, yet too willingly.
All my years spent to understand,
To grasp in my calloused hands.
Still, all my years I find vanity.
It is not that I do not have.
It is that on the edge of my tongue
Is that which I do not know how to say.
Somewhere intuition has not found
That which I do not comprehend.
That point where we arrive at decision
I am the poorest of any.
I may yet be jealousy.