Categories
Poetry

Sabrinasong (poetry)

Sitting patiently

Waiting

Waiting

For the glory of gods embrace

To leave all we have known for the next great nirvana

For the illumination that will be revealed

By whatever form god may be

Deity on a cloud

Bearded patriarch

Or the wisdom of reincarnation

Meaningless

She sees us all the same

Not as a man, nor as dust

But holily, as a life

Something that was conscious

Something that had the chance to be a part of glorious creation

Something to gaze upon perfection

The audience for the sublime performance

She loves us

Little us

As a painter might love a work

Knowing not which individual stroke make the whole so perfect

Rather, cherishing the collective

The universal

We are the fruit of life

The watchers of the universe

The art of god

We have had this privilege

And we will have it taken from us

Fortunately

Let all creation get to touch consciousness

And when we find ourselves again

As dust or a star

We must enjoy it also

A different sort of pleasure

A different stage in the metamorphosis

Of our infinite lives

Forever holy

Forever blessed

 

While we wait in this present state

We have to choose

To believe in nothing

And let life slip away

Attempting to out wait time

Or

To find something to believe in

Something for the boredom of consciousness

It need not be convoluted

Perhaps the sun will rise tomorrow

Perhaps god sits on a throne

The belief itself is meaningless

Nothing

What connotates resonance

Is the dedication applied to idle fantasy

The attempt at attainment

Yes, verily

Life is nothing

Yet, verily

It is this same nothingness that lets star`s supernova

And flowers bloom in valleys filled with birdsong

This is human life

This nothing

It is pretty, yes

Is that enough?

Who can say

Shhhh, let me whisper in your ear

What if being pretty is the meaning of life?

If this is not enough

Then you will swim in seas roiled by disappointment

Sadly

For many this is not enough

Truly

For an animal that can fabricate gods

The infinite holy in day to day life is forgotten

Since it exists for the sake of existing, not for the sake of man

However, if this miniscule tidbit that is offered

Does not take away the hunger for a perfect life

One has, again, the other choice

To attempt to outwait time

To  let life slip away

To believe in nothing

 

If this is the mission of life

Then with tragic realization

We must realize life is about hard choices

We find ourselves today

This present day

Past the difficult forks in the road

Do we even remember choosing?

And alas, the choices are finished

We shuttle towards the end

Momentum building upon momentum

While that insidious part of our mind to do with regret

Is in throes of agony

All those paths that we will never walk down

All those lives that we will never live

Could we have done better

Yes

Yes

Yes

Oh, the masterpieces that might have been

With those colours we never took the time to create

Yes

Yes

Yes

Weakness is universal

Weakness is in the id of man

Yet

Weakness is no excuse for missed perfection

We need to be the first perfect specimen

An example to illuminate humanity

And rather, we buckle

Another example of perfections impossibility

 

Weakness speaks with honeyed voices

Life is finite, and the universe is infinite

There must be compromises!

It is logical

It is true

And fuck you truth, bane to beauty

Your truth has tainted our potential

Made us believe in the inevitability of compromise

And after this logic

The dominoes fell themselves

Taking us to this unreal place

That we call the present

 

Buried deepest

Most personally

Till a person accepts it as a part of character

Rather than a free choice

Is that belief a person is either a lightbulb or a laser

I know this choice has feasted on my edible dreams

On one side

To see the universe superficially

To fly wherever one goes

To skim the entire world

But to never truly land, nest, and live

To be like that softest lightbulb

To illuminate everything

With never truly revealing anything

Then

The other paradigm

To truly reveal something

But that is everything

Like seeing and knowing a single star

And the other stars

In other constellations

Of the endless night sky of ignorance

Are ignored

And worse

Not lusted for

Both these choices have rational logic

If a man is a light bulb

He might never make anything

But he will know the shape of existence

If a man is a laser

He might never know the shape of existence

But he will have made something

Yes, each has rationality

But what does rationality know about passion

 

Perfection and passion are oxymoronic

Perfection is the blight of daytime misery

With the thought that life is like a mountain

One merely needs to climb high

And eventually, the summit is here

A good life is like a succession of dominoes

As long as you go forward

You will reach the end

But passion

The wind of my sleep time fog

Is like a bird

Simply fly up the mountain

Ignore if you have no wings

Fabricate them

Better yet: fly anywhere

Or nowhere

Yes, this seems correct

To abandon the quest to run through endless dominoes

To abandon the attempt to go as far as any man

To abandon the attempt to find the end

Because what does it gain a man

But a lot of dominoes

 

What I want

Yes me

Perhaps because it`s what I have never had

Is for momentum to pause

To come to a stop

Fuck forward

What is it here

What is it that I have discovered

What is it that this little dot of a laser adds to life

Or that a light bulb illuminates

Nothing

Nothing in isolation

They are the same

Symbiotic to each other

And to live irrationally but with verity

One has to chase the whole

Chase nothing

What is beautiful is not in some direction

No

It is right here

Dangerous to logic but perfect for passion

They are good things

Beautiful things

The things worth living for

The sunshine of another world

That for known reasons we deny ourselves

Illogical

This dark girl in my bed

Playing with unnamed children

Illogical

But these are the blocks

Of the true perfect life

A life not enslaved to the living

But rather, a life where a man is alive

Imbued with true consciousness

Not just breathing

Holily,

Alive

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *