09 December 2014

Four Hundred and Thirty-Seven


Gods have always been invented across the world, across time,
To cope with the unknown, to deal with the waves of agony and ecstasy,
Of this sensory dream in which we play out our endless vanities.
The wisdom of insecurity is for the few and far between.

* * * *
What point will there be to being a footnote in the history books
When worms are the only things moving about your cranium?

* * * *
Everything seems written-in-the-sand after the fact.
Dubious whether there is a meant-to-be about it.
Free will looking forward, fate looking back.

* * * *
Humankind has bequeathed the unborn progeny
Of countless life forms across the planet
A nightmare of epic proportion.

* * * *
Practicality may not be the harbinger of truth.
Abiding in truth may not always be practical.

* * * *
It is the same stillness, the same nothingness,
The same nownesss, the same perpetuity,
As it has ever been, and will ever be.
In each and every breath, a tidbit of eternity.

* * * *
Herded by time into adventure after adventure,
And just as surely pressed on again and ever again.
What a challenging dream to at so many times endure.

* * * *
Those who believe they knew you way back when
May have a most challenging time realizing and accepting
You no longer participate in the same state of mind.

* * * *
Who are the Krishna’s, the Buddha’s,
The Lao Tzu’s, the Christ’s, or any other mystic seer
But that which is Quantum Soul born into manifest consciousness.