Ther Vine Keeper

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Monday, June 6, 2011

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

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
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
to extricate that magic from within
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.

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