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Without Dying

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  • Without Dying


    To be present in the actual moment,
    To be aware of everything I can, and grounded with love
    To share that much with Earth, my whole soul.
    What is there to deny, what is there to believe?
    Belief comes with time, and with
    Violent loss of what we thought that was. Belief comes
    Trying to put back together
    The consequences of the word and meaning of God.
    Black and white belief. Believing in the right things.
    I do not want to be lost, but to rely on another?
    I must depend upon myself, the one whom I wake up as.

    It gets me through the night. I can't throw money at
    Problems like dirt trapped beneath my fingernails,
    I can't prove that I am more than this, than that.
    What is the use, but to build myself up with truth?

    I want to tear down what but myself? And see
    What the horizon looks like without me.
    To know what it's like to be
    Somebody else. To know what goes into
    The thoughts that reach the mouth and form
    Words meaning little or lots.
    A jot from a pen coming from
    An invisible place we can't see to cherish,
    But we cannot live and be unaffected by it.
    It remains

    The tree growing from the dark soil
    Into the sky which has this candle bright enough
    To grow the moving things on earth
    Taller, closer to it; all abide when the sky changes;
    All are affected, and belief
    Only in its core plasmas of the instance of Life
    has every chance to change us all
    with its resonance to powerstrips. With the voltage
    sustained within the computing machine,
    I am lost within the circuitry,
    And I can bend, thinking that repeating
    The same perfect memory
    Could actually be my Hell, my Prison,
    rather than any real obtainable heaven.

    To fly so high and
    To hit a wall, is all I know--
    Flailing back to myself, unable.
    To die in flames in the sky,
    Having breached the sphere
    Of our scorching sun's rays ...

    What material were our Wings?

    Did we glide like molten thought,
    Poised upon the lip to drop
    And harden into steel... wrought?
    Where do we go to find
    A place beyond our day and night?

    The questions are cold fire,
    Unmoving me as I sit here hinged
    To this dark piece of emptiness,
    I am burning black in the wild air.
    I am framed by these dimensions.

    Passing through the stomach,
    The birthdays of love
    Moving like careful pieces
    In a game where no one loses.
    And you can read the news
    And find what's there for you,--
    Or you can face the silence
    Roaring like a pack of lions.

    Wrestle
    the answer from there.

  • #2
    Deep ruminating, my poet friend. When I read this I hear vivid descriptions of constraint (real or imagined) within a much greater reality, and the pondering thereof. Was that anywhere close to your intent?

    Comment


    • amenOra
      amenOra commented
      Editing a comment
      yes that works ... the constraints of reality that ironically set us free. definitely set as glimpse to a larger reality
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