I'm always wondering if I
Can reach up from where I am,
Can reach out though un-specialized,
Join us in this interim.
Am I equipped for this desire;
I'm a voice lacking a root,
As if autochthonously sired
Not from the land but from the mute.
And what is it I want to prove,
I existed and no more?
That even someone so removed
Could meet with you at the core.
The proof that is within us all
In moments without our skin,
Moments without our deeds; when small
And great in congruence spin.
The universe which supersedes
Individuality,
Which fades while entropy proceeds,
Is the same as you and me.
All visions of grandeur or wants
Are defined only by mind.
Most of the conditions we vaunt
Are fantasies we've designed.
The organ analytical,
Its power is its prison;
Conditioned into cyclical
Schemes, sees what really isn't.
The world-fondling senses receive
All that they possibly can;
They must in order to believe
That survival is at hand.
Hoarding data into systems,
Humans structure feedback loops
Into variants of subsistence,
Each with esoteric groups.
Many things we take for granted,
But the question of belief
Persists when we feel our slanted
Precepts flying like a thief.
Anything intellectual,
Is it as real as we thought;
What If without contextual
Excuses our maxims rot?
Does society disconnect
Need from soul from consequence
With abstractions of dismal sects'
Masquerades of common sense?
Can a solo mind ever know
Anything convincingly;
Assured beyond themself, bestow
Their substance unflinchingly?
There's but one way I've ever felt
Energy surpassing each
Limit I perceive as the belt
Restraining emotion's reach.
It's love which passes between souls,
Sparking across every void;
Love which finishes broken wholes
With golden bliss undestroyed.
Love the compass I shall follow
When one thousand different sights
Press me with their pills to swallow;
Love will split the wrongs from rights.
Published
A place for my poems 