10 апр. 2016 г., 00:42  

Coalescence 

  Поэзия » Философская, Другая
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Opaque black orbs of a material unfathomed

Of make and origin transcendent,

In city streets, more labyrinths, they’re shining

but the napless, noxious light can’t make them suns.

 

In a manner of speaking, they’re dead,

Mere Hollow spheres, once filled with dreams

Now embrace each other to form grotesque

constellations that can never hope to join the stars.

 

For time and breath of a loved friend

Has smoothed heart and dulled soul alike,

How not unlike a carapace most words now are

 And living, stone or dust are but the same.

 

Alas, there is none, with angles, blurred contours,

Illusory perception of a world in order,

Where vast horizons touch to join two voids together

But fabled sweet destruction fizzles into a tear.

 

The huge and hulking discs throw meager shadows

An ant can’t find a place to sleep,

So hungry is the tribe of reflective planets,

That they have sunk their teeth into infinity.

© Немо Стилтскин Все права защищены

How can I express the incredible wonder I feel when I think about how magical our world is? But at the same time it seems as if we have, in making order from chaos, by classifying and explaining everything, killed or at least maimed and defaced some of the natural beauty that hides behind the veil of mistery. In doing so, we have also distorted our own image, because are born from chaos, made whole by it, and given shape by it. Our own minds are not the tools we use to make ourselves, or change ourselves, the consciousness only fills the mold which is left graciously and lovingly for us by the infinite power of chance. Why fear the darkness that streches on forever, for it is the only constant truth we can trust in our lives? Why avoid destruction if destruction is our mother, the precursor of creation?

 

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