don’t let this be you

in our minds, we right
our wrongs–

in our hearts,
we’re always right.

left of center,
but still in the field,

chasing the moment
to voice our righteousness–

all hearts closed,
all tongues sharpened,

whetted by indignation,
quenched and tempered with pride–

voices lie fallow,
hearts grazing on ash–

Advertisements

the philosphical millipede of progress

I.  IN WHICH WE LEARN OF CHAOS

  1. Formation of Image
  2. Seeking in Imagination
  3. Clouded Sight/Unclear Vision
  4. Collective Unconscious
  5. Universal Consciousness


II.  IN WHICH WE ORDER CHAOS

  1. Breaking of the Image
  2. Imagination Restructured
  3. Sharpening the Senses
  4. Drawing from Depths
  5. Universal Order


III.  IN WHICH ORDER DISSOLVES

  1. Inertia
  2. Dissatisfaction
  3. Limits and Boundaries
  4. Active Deconstruction
  5. Completion of the Fracture


IV.  IN WHICH WE RECOVER

  1. Silence
  2. Light
  3. Sound
  4. Sight
  5. Waking


V.  IN WHICH WE RECONCILE/SYNTHESIZE

  1.  
  2.  
  3.  
  4.  

    The Beggar’s Glory

    Open-ended, open-mouthed,
    left dangling in the sun.
    Corroded with cohesion to
    a listless, tiring run
    to sanctuaries where sleep
    will find the beggar and victor
    all awake, all weeping,
    all rapt in succor.

    Sweet for those whose eyes have taken
    up the cross-bearing others have forsaken.
    Sweet for those in quiet repose
    from a world, broken, shaken.

    All hearts aligned to the beggar’s
    glory
    and all thought made to conquer the worm.
    Turning, turning, ever turning.
    All in a violent storm.

    He Who Takes The Stage

    A fragrant story to bear the weight
    of the many who came before
    and those who lie in wait

    for the closing of the velvet curtains
    on the last play of the hand,
    the crumbling of the infernal visage,

    lying broken in the sands.
    A tale! A tale!
    We beg of you, a tale!

    Before we go off into our lives,
    give us the tale of your own!
    What lives you lived

    in all the years of centuries
    come and gone! Give us a
    story, a poem, a song!

    But no word was spoken and no
    promise broken as the velvet
    curtain drew itself closed.

    No form stood from audience
    or stage to sing of lives, age to age,
    to the ear of young and old.

    A Worker’s Prayer

    O Lord, Heavenly Father,
    Creator of all things
    visible and invisible,

    bless, this day,
    the works of my hands,

    that an unseeing world
    may see You, not me,
    in those works,

    and that the work
    I do may be acceptable
    to you, to whom we give glory.

    May Your Kingdom flourish,
    O Lord, in this world and
    all worlds, all ages.

    And may we always be
    steadfast in our resolve
    to do the work You ask of us

    and committed to the task
    of preparing the Kingdom
    for the coming of the King.

    May the Lord bless all
    who labor and toil
    by the sweat of their brow

    to sustain themselves
    and sustain all people.

    Amen.

    Among Ancient Giants

    Strokes sounding as clean as winter’s
         bone,
    singing into the cold air.
    Chopping as precise and powerful as
    the men taking hold of the handle
    to begin their work.

    The oak, its roots as deep as the core
    where from this myriad family was
         born,
    tall and austere, the ironwood not
    giving way to the song the men sing.

    Each of them, the men, the oak,
    doing as they do that they may live,
    only that they may live.

    The rules of one, governing not
    the other, but the rules will be kept
    to keep one another alive.

    The laws will be respected,
    whether or not they are our own.

    Origin Song

    Nothing grew on the land.

    The surface was a mound of rocks
    and beneath the soil
    there was ash,

    the remains of a thousand years
    of lightning-scarred vegetation.

    There was no life there,
    anymore.  Nothing the eye could see.

    The wind would roll
    and its whispers could be heard
    if the ear was inclined to listen.

    The sound was the sound of
    a timeless song,
    long forgotten,

    but never silenced.

    A tune which all people
    had once known, but
    had forgotten with time
    and the change that comes with it.

    Change for this and
    change for that.

    Everything changes, but
    the sound remains,
    always the same, always the same.

    Nothing grew in this barren place,
    but the song from which
    all was sprung could still be heard

    by those who inclined
    an ear to listen.