Archive
07/10/08 - (2)
Nescience
How many times — Weary nights, by yourself, at a nearby café, Dreary a.m.'s, on getting out of your solitary bed —
Have you asked yourself Those overwhelmingly cosmic questions: "Who am I?" and "What am I doing here?"
And without stopping to ponder the consequences, You've answered with something akin to nescience, Only to realize that, despite your ignorance,
You're awake, vital, sentient, very much alive, Vocal, not silent — If nothing else, not invisible.
How many times you've confronted the mysteries Of your persistent existence Isn't, finally, as significant as why.
Nor is why quite the key, either, To your nagging curiosity as to your being, The reason you breathe, spend your days weaving dreams,
While almost all other creatures on the planet With whom you've ever come in contact Practice the pragmatic arts of survival.
Could it be that you're fundamentally different, Operating on an anomalous plane, In a mystical space between eyes and lids,
That you intuited, from birth, The whos, whats, even the whys, don't apply to you, Rather all that ever really mattered
Never had anything to do with philosophy or religion, Instead with lexical magic Of language's rhythms, symbols, and rhymes...
Verse your sole means of translating the universe Into visceral, instinctual, intuitional dimensions Worthy of man's yearning for immortality.
07/10/08 - (2)
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