yet i speak . . .

yet i speak . . .

i speak in a tongue long forgotten

by the ways of man

and the tones of creation

reflects within the soul

of all existence

ieoueao

the babblings of a madman

is inexplicably understood

with a clarity

and parity is realized

here and now

and in the angles and lines

man falsely defines

the confines

of his own energy

as that which is in question

but we know

yes, we know

and each night when we close our eyes

we again escape

the “self”

that of the created boundaries

we embrace

instead of facing

the know

we have falsely

deludedly

mislabeled

in this fable

we call life

we have been sent to the garden

and instead of partaking of the fruit

we worshiped the dirt

and though worthy of our reverence

the dirt bears purpose

but is not sweet

and can not complete

the cycle of life

of it’s own accord

and that sacred sash

that golden chord

which binds man to truth

is unloosed

for we say it is too tight

and there are many aspects

of who we are

that can not stand it’s light

as we frightenedly run amuck

the fields of ill gotten gains

and the moon of this night wanes

and it matters not

for we are blinded

and need i remind my self

that it is time

again

to extricate that magic from within

again

that we may be delivered

from the madness of our own letting

that which we have created

in the walk towards forgetting

who we really are

and there still is that voice

speaking in tongue

who has wrung delusion

from our witful existence

and the pittance of it all

is that we heard the whispers

heard the shouts

heard the call

and we refused to answer

and played the dumb one

when the tongue of “IS-ness”

spoke the language

we have chose to forget

yet i speak . . .

© June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.