differences

differences

A Poem by AnonHimMoose

it is as if the mountains that crown the view

were the canvas for our brushing movements

where wet passions and desires roll and flow

as the river that once sculptured them.

it is nature answer in timeless piracy

to continue the evolutionary rage

that alimented our vision of the

invisible light beyond differences

that holds the whole in its indifference,

that offers its eternal silence

to our temporary cries piercing to immortality.


there is constant noise in everywhere

the light has always the same intensity

that the bodies inevitably reflect as their own;

yet it is possible to discern

among the whole that is

indifferently the same

a wrinkle on the surface:

blade of grass out of tune,

petals not equally disclosed,

roe deer lingering with shiness

not captured in the stillness of a photo,

in the rainbows constellating of a meadow

washed by pirouettes that one

not all swallows make.


and where do differences come from?

is it the story of generations repeated

in the dance of the one

proudly exposing what it alone

can think of what is universally thinkable

but closed to the telling of common inquiry?


this cannot satisfy anyone:

the possibility has to be denied

for a certain undeniable affirmation;

all differences have to be made whole

the scientist knows what the religious knows

that is what the clerk knows and all is folded in ignorance;

for the flower and the swallow and the deer

on the grass in the meadow do not need to know

the sing and turns and dance that their unique difference makes.

it is only for the scientist and the religious and the clerk

to be blind to what has came to be because 

they only can grasp what it was

in what they will come to 

point at as an as_


because the differences are within us

stored and secluded in recluded musing

till the light gouges them up soaring

in screams and whispers, possibilities,

each one to its own chord and extension

till the sought melody is restored

in the sunrise widening needle,

nature sacrificial altar of the mind.

© 2019 AnonHimMoose


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Added on July 16, 2019
Last Updated on July 16, 2019

Author

AnonHimMoose
AnonHimMoose

prague, Czech Republic



About
i once believed in stories_stories are what we are made of and it is in stories that we constantly seek to make ourselves a present to be given to others_but i have lost faith in how i can be represen.. more..