The dusk creeps in to lead me to my field of empty dreams
there goes my childhood in the flashing of an eye
and all the names and smiles of friends and
lovers whose names I mysteriously
have forgotten though I see
them clearly in my mind
the dead are calling
me this winter
hailing me
by the winding
road I trudge down
wearily to fulfill some
false destiny I once held dear
like Solomon’s treasure, this is
not bitterness I taste but only humility
that I am no closer to knowing than the day
my soul first awakened me and took me by the hand
and showed me that better place we always say our deceased
have found and indeed it is ever present all surrounding inside and outside
of which we clods of dirt are blissfully unaware, that little tear in the fabric of
what we perceive as reality has closed like the worm hole and I live with only
the memories but it was far more real and vivid than anything we know here
so let the philosophers surmise, the psychiatrists deny, the hedonists
delay, the illusionists, the hypnotists, the occultists, the charlatans
say what they may, it changes nothing for what is is despite
your cleverly crafted explanations of why you exist, your
stilted definitions lead us to great disparities between
the rich and poor and justify every wrongness we
commit, including war I’ll keep still and silent
and smile softly remembering like a man
whose lost his sight what colors look
like not 46 years has diminished
the experience
look within
and not
to those
who worship
false gods and idols
of every stripe and title

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