Skip to main content

The Way of Verse 21 (Revised)

The way of verse 21

Those who proclaim to know the way
have obliterated it, and become lost.

The delicate weave of a spider’s web carried on
the breeze rewards the patient ones with beauty.

Unraveling that which is already complete, the luminous
hues of delicate tapestry transfigures into useless chaotic threads.

The unskilled attempt to build more of what is already
too much. Skill innovates from the not yet imagined.

Surrounded by the present. The empty, the not present,
the infinite void caresses the midwife of creation.

It is common to name a child at birth. Can we be certain that
the Name is water for a seed and not the first death knell sounding?

Every day we murder each other in dispute over
ideas. Time now, for some ideas to die.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: A Scorcher

A Scorcher I sweat Ahelgany and Monongahela scorch down my face. My lungs toil as woefully inadequate bellows enslaved in the blacksmith's forge. Air is exchanged Breathing but a memory, as the Sun continues its aggressive  interrogation. My body a blunt lethargic chisel carves out with somber devotion hot iridescent granite blocks of heat with each step I take. Pressed to my brow water and rocks fill the goblet. Precious droplets of well chilled soothing elixir resuscitate my soul. Water. More precious than Sovereigns. More intoxicating than Absynthe. Sigh.