Bridging what distance lies between us
is a question that has escaped many a sage. Printed with words and replaced with pages,
bound in a book and stamped with a name.
On the cover onomastically sordid,
entitles our presence to be defined and sorted out with such elegance that no single glance,
could do the honors of any language parlance.
Herein lies the opportune time
to read inside borders of faintly drawn lines
and beseech what answers may lay to rest
this question that has for centuries request.
Dot to dot dreams awaken what seems
to connect us with eternity,
vanquished in memories of long ago lost,
now the bridge of which we must cross.
Over and above the stream of consciousness
we must walk a balancing beam,
weaved with a needle, this string of remembrance ties what little is given by chance
to thread through dismembered vanity,
the loophole of plain gaping sanity.
For if we should slip through the knot
and untie the ends on entering the means,
the fall alone would be of such magnitude
we could no longer rely on adjustments of altitude to allow us the breath we need.
Choking while grasping, with nothing to hold,
not even a shadow would be so bold
as to tread upon a path with no lines.
Only an erasure could be so blind
to bring initiative and cross over ink,
where the printed word has stood the brink
of discovery way past due.
The removal of you, I and they,
combined with the truth of forgetting age
and traveling back to presage all time.
Let the clock neither tick, tock or rewind,
it has no existence on the path laid behind,
nor distance, sound, light or the like,
beyond any chord of comfort to strike.
Give in or give up, naked be free,
make it no mission, maybe then you will see
what no man has ever seen before.
A vision if you will.
The bridge is, by birthright,
a privilege which hinges the depth of creation, where in it is found the source of human salvation, birth grounds of our manifestation.
Hallow be thy name long ago written,
presented one way, then it was fitted
to the earthen needs of human flesh,
a constant bleed to dress with red,
black and white answers that comply
with deaths lone commandment
of create then destroy.
Be still and acknowlege your unlimited potential.
Be true unto
thyself.
Bridging the Distance
Spoken Word Poetry - Prose - Short Stories - Poems - Spiritual Writings - Philosophy - Children's Stories - Automatic Writing
Ancient Wisdom in a Modern Era
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Spoken Word Poetry
Ancient Wisdom in a Modern Era
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