In a land of our making
Subterranean
Subtlefuse and fuselage
Quagmires and waterfalls
My own Ecclesiastes
Can you know enlightenment,
without first starting at its polar
Can you know anything,
without first knowing what it is not
If I slide through this land
Of my own making
Within the white, white, white
Within the black, black, black
Tis a season
That approaches through
this land of my own making
Within the gold, the regal, the fallen
Fallen down and bare
Stark the stand before you
Slumbering some watchful mostly
Can you remember one within the sameness
Do you worry of the eternal
Subtlefuse and fuselage
Quagmires and waterfalls
Subterranean
Land of my making
My own Ecclesiastes
7 comments:
JS, Grew again reading this. I love that! The repeat of the beginning at the end is nicely cyclical and "Can you know enlightenment...without first knowing what it is not" really resonates with me. The whole thing makes me think I see a life path through the trees of experience.
Peace!
I like this one a lot, though you shouldn’t be afraid of the gray, gray, gray.
alt: lol...ah, that gray, slowly my friend, slowly.
lee: i am glad it resonated and opened something within you.
jsd: I like the slip-sliding quality of this poem: it mirrors, I would think, your journey, where polars blend into their opposites at a moment's turn, from quagmire to waterfall and back...
And back again...
murat: i think i'd have to agree :)
I can't help it.
"You're living in your own private Ecclesiastes." Sung by the B52s to the tune of "Private Idaho." That's what I kept hearing as I read this. And yes, it worked.
san: lol, that's great...I can hear it too :-)
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