The imagery in the poems you chose and in this part of the series remind me of Stephen Crane's "The Wayfarer":

The wayfarer,
Perceiving the pathway to truth,
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha," he said,
"I see that none has passed here
In a long time."
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
"Well," he mumbled at last,
"Doubtless there are other roads."

Considering the pain they go through in the search for truth (whatever that truth may be at that moment), the image of truth's path consisting of "singular kni[ves]" resonates with me.