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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Some men die to survive the Hard endures the Soft succumbs stews in juices reproduces exults disappears the heartless breaks cracks crumbles drags the Ephemeral down the ravines of the also-ran rivers dissolves explodes The myriads and myriads who breathe but spent air the haemoglobin of genetic change all the ephemeral dust of pain destruction and damnation Now and then one hears talk of everlasting Oneness of undying Truth and Salvation whose whispers linger longer than the astroidal rain’s howling phantom winds holocaust blasts in the ears of ovens pent-up change piercing permanence Some men die to survive nothing remains of them but the hollow word they shaped and filled with sense common sense the word that thinks creates the Void Even the Compassionate Prince’s plain truths grow limp and fall on hardened ears his tooth a colossal myth piercing the sky common words of common sense fetched in Essenic straw-buckets of Dead Sea scrolls whose words survive on the lips of those who cannot lie who remember only the Law words will uphold what Truth will never connive mind-full messages torn from tongues long silent come crashing from mountain-top roofs the frozen trek down tricky treacherous slopes words meander through slots of seething ice-packs the Wanderer surrenders with squeezed-out bated breaths the burden of ages preserved on the lips of the deathless errant Everyman handed down by the Pauper-Prince become the common man who strolls through untrodden paths the simple obvious truths which never stifle throttle How many stark truths make up the ultimate whole Truth will Truth out no matter what The naked Truth is not for Man he needs his truth cloaked clothed to be unraveled made a mystery of by mystificators by authors who only know how to speak with their hands accompanying gestures of effete moral preachment skeins embroidering the skies that shift and shatter with the times Some lisp the Truth heard only by the few and made to look all anew afresh bestowed given as life-renewing elixir and let others connive whose skills lie in making It ring true in caverns beyond lost horizons by starlight gathering mists hugging low the Dead Sea growls Take the worshipful apostle myths away a hundred a hundred and fifty odd years gone the myrrh the high-quality incense the barn-birth and the Three Wise Men led by a trekking star the carpenter’s intestate Holy Virgin the Sermon on the Mount the bared cheeks and you still hear Shakhyamuni voice not doubt on the Cross Eli Eli Lama Sabachthani © T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
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