differencesA Poem by AnonHimMooseit 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 AuthorAnonHimMooseprague, Czech RepublicAbouti 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.. |

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