Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Winter for the Spirit, and Spring

Why can't what is within
come out?
Why can't what is without
come in?
The former being preferable,
How is the abstract taught
to be concrete?
Shape to a void,
one form to another.
An inequality we all must model
as an equation
for proliferation
of the life brought
by this unmasterable ego.
Death the common result
where the converse is impossible
with a sole exception in time.
The impossible mission of the masses.
Universal human struggle.
More than a dream,
but less than God,
we haven't the power
to navigate
to discern
to enact
to fulfill.
More than panchromatic
but less than hyperspectral
our vision can never be seen
looking beyond an event horizon already crossed
a widow's nest to the empty ocean,
Endless as space
yet handcuffed in matter.
By the manacles of time
we struggle to realize
what we can't begin to understand.
Time, not, enough.
We haven't the eyes to perceive,
or the means
in our back
in our hands
in our mind's divisions
to enlist the translation
of our souls to reality's dimensions.
If only the things of earth could unleash it
like the breaking of an element
to nuclear proportions.
If a lion could be contented
or contained
with an office and grocery stores,
the field and game foregone.
More than impossible
it's nonsense.
Absurdity in the marrow from birth.
the chemos of choice,
of need,
of a lacking.
Destiny is not just ours
and not just out there.
Dreams are not imagined
that have not the possibility of coming true,
strength to be made real from another,
here and there,
within and without,
as much myself as not.

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