I never write of what I don’t experience first -hand
living on such barren land… there is often not much to write about
of what happens W i t h o u t .
But W i t h i n ….
It all tumbles and rolls as the imagined Hell’s Bell tolls
(In)to the Vortex of the Force that pierces deep
and u n f o l d s
the wrinkled soul-parchment.
W i t h i n ,
I have imagined eons beyond conscious reckoning….
All that ever considered itself a “me”
That lies within me
To alien red desert dust.
W i t h o u t ....
I see the patterns of repetition and they wear my patience thin
I drown it within - I drown it within…
But I cannot care for contemporary cares and worries
As much as those attached to the side of Time
Half-absorbed is Half-Formed
But a whole Universe can lie behind one Being
And a whole Being can hide behind that mirror
You and I hold dear
for it makes us feel real
to the presuming eyes of others
we imagine we can relate to
in our constricting human-ness.
But beyond this…
Beyond its needy frantic reach
The eons upon eons of space stretch outward
Where all the tiny human soul-clusters,
bind to form the tentacled
of the Great Organism...
…The moment comes when even That, tires of its own repeating cycles
And stretching its tentacles over one last time
to the One and Only, that remains standing
offering peace to the Others
knowing full well,
there will be none left
for S e l f .