The young man speaks of light and grace, A smile across his unlined face. "I think all men are good," he cries, With Anne Frank’s hope within his eyes. The skeptic feels the winter chill, And keeps his weathered spirit still. "You claim to know the inner soul, To see the part and grasp the whole. But acatalepsy is the truth, A lesson hidden from your youth. The human heart is never clear, It’s masked by pride and veiled by fear. You cannot grasp the hidden mind, Or know the