We are seizured into the unknown
With one syllable, not even a raft,
Tinctures of sandlewood notwithstanding.
The light yields a thousand tomes of dark
Scribbled as a form of control.
The Venetian Phoenix, the Phoenician phalanx
Twirls around a caduceus of death
Like a walking stick with red eye
Taking, in the guise of enlightenment,
As if we are supposed to know,
Something wrong with us, a sin of error,
When there is no need to accommodate
The prison with the skies.
It has gone on in the name of learning
A long time -- the antipode
To pull on our reactions. How silence
Never seems to be enough.
Rare earth, shared soil,
The plangencies of taking on a truth
Revealed in shadow frequencies,
The individuation of seems,
A not that turns to is,
As if it's meant to stay
Instead of breaching the code
And carrying away the resonance
Of the true to dead center, where it
Becomes, again, a realized possibility,
Congruent with light, but shaped by
A higher drive, to know, the role of Gods,
Nothing beyond desire. It permeates
The universe as the one true fire.
