Archive 06/12/12 - (1)

 

   

Bequeather and Genius

                                                                  

Freedom is the bequeather and genius of creativity's myriad legacy,

The only reason the seasons and the eons can evoke,

To explain how poems, paintings, plays, symphonies, movies, ballets,

Sacred scrolls, scientific theories, even dreams, come into being,

Arrive, complete, as history-shaping prophecies,

From inscrutable pasts and futures, coalescing with our presences,

Giving birth to brain children whose fantasies illuminate the universe.

 

When freedom is nowhere to be located, imagination withers,

Disappears into a hibernal desolation, dire melancholia,

A dry, white silence not unlike an aphid blight that attacks hibiscuses

Before they're brought inside, to survive the winter,

Or a drought that inundates a sub-Saharan oasis, with doom-portents,

When rain decides to cast a thirst-plague over nature's idolaters,

Beings who place no credence in the sovereignty of lakes and grass.

 

Freedom is a godsend, a benison, holy grace, salvation itself,

The highest expression of human enlightenment, love,

The means by which we communicate with each other and ourselves,

Saying yes to the blessing of creating transcendent essences,

From mere ecstasy, epiphany, rapture,

Metaphorizing death into life immortal, opening the portals to forever,

Through which our souls progress — endless incandescences.

 

 

 

 

                                    

 

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