Your Last Defence
“Your Last Defence”
The conversation concluded,
“Imagination opens doors”.
This is your last defence
to barriers pushed against
your moral conscience.
Words mean nothing eventually.
Towards the end -
Feelings, everything.
And so, you rebel, like a poet
and take up life as such,
sharp fanged and mind boggled.
What poet impresses logic?
In a world gone mad?
What poet impresses love in all its dimensions?
Most true poets, do,
whether they deem so, or not.
Other poets, true poets, read them well.
The great pretenders do not.
The sense of being real in the moment
erases all words of f’chery; your truth is real, undeniable
to import some relevance to nothing of little large importance.
This life, and all achieved to this point,
of little value, when the bigger meaning of it all
punches you in the throat, and leaves you voiceless.
So you write, armed with weapons of words
more powerful than loaded bombs
and sharper than bayonets.
Life is only found, as you like it
in the remnant of an Arden dream,
gardens to be seeded; bare threads,
slide through the loop hole
of the Eye of a worldless needle
that sharply pricks the mind and
stitches the heart’s verdant flower bed;
what bleeds forth is lush recalcitrancy.
This is the life of an irreverent
pure pagan poet.
Shakespeare like God watches on
waiting for you to translate
his Midsummer meanings.
Even Homer keeps his patience
watching you from the aether, he thinks the Illiad becomes you
and your tragic comedy - well, deep Dante feels, he knows you intimately.
You came through it all in another life.
And still you can’t see the pure poetry in it all.
Just different shades of black and white, dissolve.
At the end of the day,
At the end of the read,
At the end of the road,
you know what’s Life
and what it should not be;
still,
it’s pure poetry,
poetic,
honesty
when you finally see.
Fuelled full on empty.
There’s no escaping
Argos Panoptes
in all his guises
Candide Diderot. '25
“And set a watcher upon her, great and strong Argus, who with four eyes looks every way. And the goddess stirred in him unwearying strength: sleep never fell upon his eyes; but he kept sure watch always.”
“According to Greek mythology, the peacock was a sacred bird to Hera, queen of the gods, wife to Zeus, and the patroness of women, marriage, and childbirth. Hera became jealous when Zeus would spend time with Io, one of his many mistresses, and recruited Argus to watch her with his hundred eyes. After Argus was killed in a plot, Hera set Argus’ eyes on the tail of a bird as a tribute. The new creation, a peacock, became so important to Hera that they were chosen to pull her chariot.”
“Argus Panoptes, also known as Argos, was a formidable figure in Greek mythology, renowned for his hundred eyes. As the son of Arestor, Argus was a giant whose name "Panoptes" aptly means "the all-seeing one," a testament to his unparalleled vigilance and perception.”
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."
Alternative Title: “Peacocks”.
Greek
Egyptian
India (Hindu)
Islam
Jewish
Christian
gods, giants, mortals
symbolism, beliefs
ancient literature
Imagination
Life, Death
portals, keys
Poets.
Poetry.
Humanity.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment