Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.147.86.123
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Snorting, snarling, spewing, glowing
phosphors from its flaring, hairy nostrils
the Truesoarius is a mythic dragon
that stalks and lurks in lore.
Never cowering in a cave,
ready to rise from the deep seas
or from mountains poised to pounce,
in the clouds, in every breath.
We fear it more than even death.

A scaly, spiny denizen of the id.
The feral fact, the uncertain certainty,
the devil and the God all in one.
The very thing we're wired
to want so much but cannot have.
In a grand heroic thrust the Truesoarius
rears up on hind legs and belches
out these chilling words:

"I see the truth others cannot see.
There are no absolutes in life,
nothing you can hold on to, control.
You try so hard to bend what's real,
only one truth shall I reveal.
There is no refuge for you to take
no guarantee of a heaven to make -
even though you may wish it so."

Science keeps changing the truth.
Creativity and imagination are merely tools
worshiped falsely by fearful fools.
Look around, see the changes Darwin saw.
If Einstein taught us anything at all
it was that absolutes, in time, will fall.
Voltaire said, "Doubt is not a pleasant
condition but certainty is an absurd one."
The unending search for truth and God is perverse.
The force of consciousness is the universe.
Ancients and sentients have thought this through.
Leaving little left for one to do?

When the sun came up for Galileo it spoiled
the illusion that we were the center of it all.
Even the Pope was confused for centuries.
Once it was believed the world was flat
and then suddenly it wasn't.
Again, again science changes the truth.
At the quantum particle level, it persists even now
quaking existence in what we think we know.
Does dark matter matter?
The earth has been spinning all this while
and we think we are the only ones still.
An epic egoistic error, what we resist persists.

Like a whimsical, wizard witch
conjuring a noxious elixir
brewed by the ignorant yet powerful
in a caldron of confusion over millennia.
We lap it up in bowlfuls,
this perilous potion of hubris and self-righteousness
ready to fight wars over it
that never result in resolution -
only a bigger beast eating a weaker beast.

The Truesoarius laughs his howling, harrowing
cackle throughout the ages at this sorry clutch
of mindless sapiens called humanity -
forever condemned to think on their own.
This is not the comforting ontology they seek.
Not finding the certainty that ends adversity.
Not finding the happiness that replaces suffering.
Revealing only the truth of impermanence.



1/25/20
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required