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The Fine Woven Net
Remarkable insights visit me,
born in dark and lunar silence
when the mind, alone,
romps
even as even heaving
of my blessed unfettered love
passes night's breath in even sway
mere envious inches to my side,
yet dreaming miles away.
Her whispered almost worded snore
sighs steadily,
“We need”, We need”, “We need”;
Part lungs labor, esophageal song;
alone to me in the soulful hour of three,
a profound and eery litany;
a repeated gasp found in repast,
stranger to the sun,
shared unknowing to keen ears;
mine,
hours 'ere lighted orb to dawn will dine.
“We need”, I hear, and clearly see
the fine woven net our lives tromp upon;
it came clearly as moonlight on dewed grass
how empty souls thrive, prosper in this plane;
likewise decent souls reel in pain,
both on this theater, this mighty stage;
infinite jest this; billions of souls
in disarray yet strange arranged.
Our human vessel;
this flesh, blood and bone,
one hundred eighteen elements us,
to a one
elementally identical to our earthen home;
this static whirling, atoms twirling
in place
on high unknown demand,
what stays this frantic action,
on whose or what command?
What mandate holds us all in thrall
to play hero, villain, knave, Saint?
Who wields such a brush to canvass
infinite hues of paint.
To be sure,
as every soul whispers to its host,
some to heed, ignored by most,
our duty surely not so mundane
as to gather atoms thus arranged
to boats, cars, vases, art-
mere things like us (in element) but not so much;
no thinking, breathing, objects such.
A fools errand those that seek,
most assured,
failing both in soul and heart
those spirits sore in need of cure.
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