~ a poem
We spend so much time inside our own mind.
Trapped within inner, searching for answers
Wielding illusions to help us unwind
Immersed in the chaos of motion like dancers
Given answers to questions unasked,
All to solve the puzzles of life
We forge ahead but masked,
We are unwell, forever in strife
Where is the self,
where does it lie? where is it located?
In mind, codes of existence.
holding my reality, well-articulated.
In wavering waves, a primitive persistence
An affinity for revelations
With the power to create or destroy
Inside the locked room is the foundation,
of a person understood, or a decoy?
This knowledge all unkept
We are complex, entangled and weeping unchecked
It may be incapable of natural comprehension;
Obscured to the fault of the exploring dimension
How then, do we discover it?
Not without the hands of those that keep it, that created it, hid it away
With newfound knowledge, perhaps an existential fear to allay?
Or in the doorway, do we step into a newer, enlightened decay?
Any secret has to be viewed from the unalterable perspective,
the unconscionable reverse of the selfless-persona,
Without this, understanding is unobtainable,
But perhaps, so is the context we seek
By the design of its circumspect originator, there is an unmentionable, untraversable truth that is so real, so fully realized and borne of the soul that it has to be hidden
It is buried in the sands of time, as an artifice to an unknown past
Eventually, it must also be found, and the story along with it
Even in the discovery, there are flecks of mystery
Ghostly aspects of intention, spectral markings of forgotten purpose
All of it borne of the hands of an author long since perished, or malformed
Unknown veracity lies well beyond its surface, for the eyes of the dead, or transformed
Only this one can know it, contain it, nurture it, delve into it
Only you can understand // only you can reveal
That’s what a secret is:
Mystery is the Avatar we all conceive
Each of us, madcaps for the human condition
Our ambitions rest on tomorrow’s intrigue
Two truths here are given:
A secret is the only thing worth knowing.
All life is a secret. ~