poem

Something Along Those Lines

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The human? That is not a question mark,

but purely a contemplative issue.

Dilemma, bridge connecting light from dark.

And timelessness, cocooned in timely tissue.

 

Recumbent on duality of mind,

pulled multiple directions by his cares,

the human, guilty, slumbers deep inside

of us; awakening - still deeper, buried.

 

He stretches, just to separate the lines

between perceived/imagined and invisible,

admitting not the error of his eyes,

suspecting dimly they are in existence.

 

The pillar to support each earthquake's cheek,

in surface steady apathy revealing;

in height he will attain his greatest peak -

but only if, and only when, he's kneeling.

 

And just the vanity in him will sprout

when upward he is solemnly protruding…

The human?! Sacred creature, not a doubt -

but every step he leaves behind disproves it.

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