The Midwife of the Mind (Socratism)
I walk the dusty square with empty hands,
And meet the men who claim to know the All;
They build their truth on shifting, desert sands,
And wait for Pride to take its sudden fall.
"What is the Good?" I ask with tilted head,
"What is the Just, and where does Virtue lie?"
Until their hollow certainties are shed,
And naked truth is born beneath the sky.
I am no teacher with a golden tongue,
But just a midwife to a hidden thought;
From every soul, a deeper song is wrung,
The kind of wisdom that can not be bought.
The only truth that sets the spirit free:
To know that I know nothing—save to be.
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