concienca
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it …
is conscience …
running from us like a cold rill from
the highland slopes
every obstruction, a detour …
its source is constant
relativity the parochial string of its core
trembling -
waiting for defined intent
or withdrawal …
it is of a shadowed ilk and ire
fluid form and gait
patient for the final process
content to be utilized when all else ends
when the distillations are finished …
it rests in a quiet corner
but works naked in the bright of noon
when emotions have ebbed
and rationale is shaped …
the imprint it leaves is amaranthine -
we toss its precepts like a coin
spend it like a beggar
but whether fed or starved
it lives on - footprints fossilized
and if denied
the monster that grows in its stead
can devour us whole
sans regrets …
it’s destination is as clear as its path -
the ocean that all decision and thought
flows to inexorably
and the stark figure that stands alone
in the midday sun
waiting for fear … or courage
the only one it answers to OR for
and it’s one and only
brother …
truth.
Copyright © 2025 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art “Les Gardiens De La Conscience” by Cathy Burtin taken from public domain files at Singulart / Flickr )
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2025
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