Levels of the Different Years

There is an earth Where things are just as they look No distortions of reality No lies. But to get there means such great sacrifice That few will ever try. Obese mountains hard to climb Stand in the way of the fools Who scorn the mighty and the meek Which ascend them With the proud faces Of yesterdays wasted. Where are you on these immense Banks of rock, Are you standing laughing while others Stride past, Or do you live the life that you have ? Such a simple question. Then the long plateau Of knowledge dawns And the trek of existence follows In the blind footsteps of the walkers before Is this all necessary is the Judas question. The slow descending path Winds onward to the plains of truth, Where love and hate are forever Walking hand in hand, Through the blood red poppies Which are lying dead on the ground. Keep off the grass, And out of sight, The line this side is as slight As a razors edge, And don't let them hear Your screams. The plains emerge from the silent sky And rounded corners keep the confidence of Places far away. Will the illusion uphold what was said to be right, Or will it see its chance of stage performance Recognisable by the mirrored horror in naive faces. I see the barren ground, Not moving in a wrong direction But weaving in between my feet And making known its true intention. It encapsulates all that is around Allowing only its wants and needs. A plant of no colour grows from the dry earth Screaming for a piece of light For all the times that it had none, It has not yet seen the place where it grows, What will it do when the stark Truth comes down to its level ? An understanding occurs as I watch the many scenes Unfold themselves before my critical eye, The reign of my youth has succumbed To an unnerving and abusive world, Which the opaque white flower once hid Only allowing me to see a half life. A misunderstood simplicity has gone Along with the years and the light which shone So bright against the internal screen. Follow me now along this way But don't touch a thing which seems to weigh Heavy on the heart of others. Clouds please come and spiral in the sky Show me your independence to this earth We seem to be bound to. You see so much And we see so little Come and tell me peace. I see myself within a sphere Of love and life and death. And with me my son whose only eyes Are covered by blackened scarf Which bandage his eternal wounds Of my ancestors. Rain smugly falls Upon my dreams long thought of won. Clothes start to sag, Feet start to stick in the unstable ground, Which slowly surrounds me Is it time for shelter? The rain has passed, And left is an experienced mire Of dispositions found. I retire among the fallen arches The many columns still standing alone And here I wait for a while.Long, and very possibly boring. Written January 31st, 2002 © on Jan 31 2002 07:21 AM PST   0 • 10