A spark of sentience sets fire to fuel
the blueprints are set, the mold starts to cool
the result is a baby that was sent here to drool
until a child emerges, and is urged into school
Scared straight by the rigid lines in class, confined
and distracted by fractions and rational minds
caught up in a cauldron where compassion's a crime
called a crackpot should he not laugh at the divine
12 years of confusion and losing a war,
for choosing a side just divides us up more.
But those whispers of wisdom persisted, implored
til they crackled like gunshots and shook the whole floor.
When his foundation fractured, he was found enraptured
by spirits of rinpoches, saints, and old masters
These learned souls looked quite absurd, he thoughtafter,
floating faceless in space, all choking with laughter.
"who art thou who resides in the deep black?"
the void spoke with silence before guidance could crack
like a whip, the response was a question, a trap,
a test to see what our boy might unwrap
"Since when does darkness decide where the mind lies?"
Perplexed, he flexed fingers and replied,
"The abyss lies inside, behind tired eyes,
but ours are wide open. You see darkness, like I."
The mouthless wisdom blew a breeze as if smiling
and its speechless speech took on tones beguiling.
"You expect God to store Truth in a cabinet for filing?
You collect call the Cosmos then hang up while it's dialing?
The notes of repentance you sent in the mail
weren't posted or stamped. They were destined to fail.
The play's engagement began to enrage our young sage
so he puffed up his chest in stress, strayed from the stage
Disenchanted, the actors all yawned & delayed
while the dude took his sweet time acting his age
Years had passed when it dawned upon him, in dismay,
he saw he'd just been living to get paid and get laid
he was afraid, for he'd known no other way
so alone, in the rain, he walked home wrapped in shame
but as he closed the curtains, he remembered the play.
Our young one had aged a decade on his break,
but the stooges on stage, were so stoic, unchanged
the ageless archetypes had just waged a debate
as to when their small friend would return more awake.
"I know now the dial tone," the young man said slow,
"you spoke of years ago. I know God has no phone.
I see God's master plan includes no mailman,
no pagers, no fax machines. My head's in the sand."
"Alas," said the whisp of wisdom with a sigh,
"It's not just your head, you're buried up to your thighs."
Our friend flushed, but he trusted he might soon know why
These nonsensical sentences made sense to these guys.
"How then," he inquired, "might I see light again?"
The spirit laughed, laughed so loud stars shook overhead
"That's like asking which came first, the chicken or the hen."
Our hero's head hung. He felt like he was ten.
"I wish I was dead," he said, "or you made more sense."
"In a sense, you already are dead my friend.
There's no difference in life here or at the end.
You're still stitching up pieces you've neglected to mend."
Falling to his knees, he pleads, "I'll make amends!"
"Amends for what?" Silence sunk into the air.
and the flare in our hero's heart simmered, and he shared
the secrets that he'd tried to spare, "My God, I'm just so scared."
Standing stark, he felt naked just like a newborn,
no shirts or slacks could clothe him; his pride had lost form.
He curled up in a ball, wrapped in his own arms
and mumbled, "I just want to be safe and warm."
Ripe with god-fearing, he peeked through his hands
expecting to detect only the darkness of sand
A dim light glowed, but before he could stand
it flashed a deep crimson, convincing him he was damned
"Why did I come back?" he cried, mortified,
"There's only one way off this ride." God's reply.
Traumatized as the brightness broke through his shut eyes,
his unwillingly scryed his whole life, and despised
his decisions and lies, his divine inhibitions.
He'd never once prayed, nor set foot in a mission.
Even a man who sees himself damned, in a vicious
vortex of regrets clings to life like an object
as if chained to its strife, fights and conflict.
But alive or dead, those aren't topics to bond with
and this tale's conclusion is overdue by a long bit.
Amidst the confusion of his ego's dissolution
our hero was so humbled he hid from his solution.
When his pride cracked in two, the Light came to include him
But his battered down being saw this as an intrusion
So, I say with amusement, he was quite overwhelmed
when he awoke on his couch feeling fresh out of hell.
Closed, his curtains were certain not to tell
any tales to passers by how he'd risen and fell.
The next day, he was back getting paid to get laid
But something had changed. What it was, he can't say,
but I've watched this boy since before his birthday
and on this, my mind is almost certainly made.
He was put through the mill, a school system of shills
that dreamed to distill children's wonder as a drill
and when folks are afraid of the light, walls are built
and until the Sun is replaced by the night, grow they will.
but when brightness breaks through, it brings brushes of truth
and with a sweep and stroke it will coat your old views.
It paints upon what you've held true.
And so we rush to rebuild the forts! Overhaul!
These are my beliefs! These shots have been called!
But regardless, Once Truth has breached the fall,
it can't be stopped, it grows and crawls
to great heights, like vines climbing walls,
The cabal may push back, but if you never shove
and help Truth to grow back to what it once was
you'll find that it flowers from beautiful buds
that are sculpted straight from the Divine's mindful love
The problem does not lie in what the truth was,
what matters is what it is and what it becomes.
Our boy saw the truth, and at first, he did run
for the brightness blazed as bright as the sun,
but the eyes can adapt, and that's what he's done
in the end, the beauty of truth always won.
