There are just some things
Left I would conquer
Should the chance avail itself.
Some things were not meant to conquer.
Some things were not meant to be conquered.
I am both, and neither.
Yea though I walk through death’s green pastures,
My downtrodden paths lead not to the bright waters;
In the bright waters where I would see reflections
That I care not to see (dare not face).
Reflections of a self that was not selfless
A self with pastures for the taking but
Pastures not for the dispersion among the flock.
Reflections of myself.
There’s just no time for time any more.
The world outside, still outside,
But there’s no time to have time
For worlds outside, or worlds inside.
I left the other day, vowing never to
Return, but here I am.
No world outside; no time inside;
Never to return; never to remain.
I thought this experience would lead
Somewhere, but instead it lead me to
A realization that nowhere really matters.
Nowhere in time, nowhere outside,
Nowhere in any world, nowhere here.
No place I’d been before.
I’ll leave again today, vowing never
To return again.
Then it dawns upon me suddenly,
That dawn happens every day,
And I’m not there to witness it.
If I’m there, I don’t remember.
Maybe I should wake myself in some other
Place while my body sleeps,
Witness dawn from nowhere, no time.
Witness myself succumbing to these silly
Inoculations of a substitute for sanity.
Maybe (here I go again) I could substitute
Time for sanity, right here for nowhere,
This world for some other one.
I’ll leave again tomorrow, and vow
Never to return again.
Maybe there’s time left after the beatings
For a plastic surgeon to remove those petty
Marring scars, that I will never see without
A mirror. Or for some other being to lay,
A portent of a death that never came, in
A future that was substituted for sanity.
Perchance I’d call upon that surgeon’s knife
To cut mine eyes, and leave me to face the
Realities inside my head, instead of some
Ill fated world outside, which I’d believed
I had no part in creating. But, then again,
I once was human too. Maybe again, someday.
I’ll leave again next week, and vow
Never to return again.
All has been said and thought and felt before
By someone I never before desired to know.
All my thoughts were thought before,
All words and wisdom existed before my
Consciousness of me.
Yet still I repeat what is new to me,
But not really new.
Funny how concepts waver
Between the sublime,
And the tangible,
Between that we know
And that we are.
Distractions change,
Leaving little life for poetry.
One year a new fashion afflicts us.
(Fashion’s one distraction
Is the illusion of a change,
The promise of the new.)
Wavering concepts,
Interwoven with distractions
And these petty predilections,
Lead not from or towards
Broad understanding of the
Constancy of change,
But to a broad misunderstanding
That change brings about the
New.
There is nothing new.
Distractions change,
But remain distractions.
That from which we are distracted
Remains, unchanged.
I remember sitting on top of the mountain,
Sitting and staring somewhere into nowhere,
Looking around all compass points,
Looking at the silent granduer of the other mountains,
Looking down the path that brought me here,
Looking down on the insidious city I had escaped.
I dropped my head, not worthy to behold
Such sights, though my mind played on.
The portion of the world at my fingertips,
All that which I could see,
Humbled me.
I did not conquer the mountain,
I climbed it.
Climbing the mountain did not exalt me,
It humbled me.
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