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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
Through shadowed trails, beneath the moon’s cold stare,
Its Amber gaze: a burden hard to bear.
This feathered prize found peace in my gut,
No slumber dreamt; no answer could I get.
Eurasian owl, with orbs of liquid flame,
My every stride, a prideful, haunting game.
Then, fate unveiled, upon a gnarled limb,
I, no mercy, watched the hunted, stand, grim.
A rifle cracked. A feather's silent fall.
Forrest convulsed: lifeless body, empty hull.
In moonlit boughs of ancient, Fortingall Yew trees,
Where shadows twine and twist with eerie ease,
A serpent of smoke licks my dying fire, hissed.
A tarnished quill, a strigiform, mocks my quest,
Scrawling nightmares on this haunted, hallowed crest.
Runes of vengeance etched in bark, ancient and stark,
Throb crimson 'neath the moon's cold, watchful mark.
This crumbling shrine, where trophies once held sway,
Now a visceral warning at the close of day.
Yet in those Amber eyes, watching, dreadful, dismay
Of deeds, they taunt, dreams forever lain,
Feathers, like lost dreams plucked, bear cold and pain.
The tarnished quill, a taxidermied spine of ice,
Inscribes his vengeful design, a chilling price.
Buried beneath a sky of obsidian, reason takes flight,
Through spectral night, each rustle a talon of fright.
In boughs where nightmares crawl, no sanity found,
Only the shadows stalked their fallen king, precarious.
And in those Amber eyes, demise, perdition, carious.
"Remember, mortal," screech fills the chilling air,
"The eyes you stole, forever watching, ever there."
From his perch above the hearth a gnarled branch, shines his ire,
Twin orbs of Amber pierce my soul's dark, smoldering pyre.
They burn with secrets, hidden by the cloak of night,
Reflecting sins in their unyielding, haunting light.
The quill, a conduit, upon my hand it bled,
Each stroke a tremor, each letter, a burning brand that feeds.
And in those Amber eyes, doom, malediction, my shame.
Madness burrows, a spider silk of terror in my skull,
Webs of horror petrified, where reason wanes, turns cold.
Amber eyes, unblinking, piercing, Oh, so cold,
Mock my torment, acerbic as each tale unfolds.
As moon wanes pale, fresh shadows coalesce,
The cabin shudders, secrets released, enmeshed.
Whirlwind of feathers, pinions tore, stillness, swish
And in those Amber eyes, doom, my penance, deranged.
And in those Amber eyes, death, penance, must be paid.
A sudden tremor, not of wind or leaf, nor breeze,
A feathered silence whisps through the ancient Yew trees.
From moonlit depths, a spectral form takes flight,
The Eurasian Eagle-Owl ascends, bathed in the ghastly light.
Thrice he circles, a haunting serenade,
His gaze, a portal to an endless, shadowed glade.
My stolen prize, once perched upon this gnarled limb,
Now soars above, reclaiming, vengeance, itself, him.
And in those vile Amber eyes, pierce, penance, possess.
The quill I clutch, once triumph's gleaming prize,
Now crumbles to dust, beneath the watchful skies.
"Mortal flesh to ash," fire hissed, "vengeance burns hotter”,
"Forever haunted, by a relentless, burning quagmire."
The owl reclaims his throne, a specter of vengeance in his flight,
And I, once the hunter, now the hunted, enslaved.
In mirrored eyes, madness seeps, a corrosive weight upon my soul,
Owl, fire, reflections of a tormented troll.
And in those cruel Amber eyes,
Retribution, torment, abyss.
And in those dire Amber eyes,
Wraithful gaze,
Burning pyre,
shattered soul.
The fire fuses branded secrets, a purging inferno cleansing my plight,
the Eurasian Eagle Owl, with those Amber Eyes takes final flight,
Leaving me alone with that foreboding blood moon,
…a nefarious succubus of the night.
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
Sonnet I
In realms of emerald hush, where sunlight strains
Through veils of green, a silent throng takes root,
A clovered congregation on the plains,
Their stoic forms a timeless, lushful loot.
No melodies from throats unseen they sing,
No pleas for mortal ken their silence breaks,
Yet in their rooted quietude, they bring
A symphony for Nature's gentle stakes.
From dust they rise, by unseen hands embraced,
To greet the dawn's first kiss, a deep-green dream,
Unfurling fronds that grasp the sun's warm face,
A silent pact with life's sidereal stream.
No eyes behold the light their essence drinks,
No lips confess the air for which it thinks.
Sonnet II
Through fragrant whispers, secrets softly pass,
On unseen currents borne, a cryptic lore,
A web of messages that dance like grass,
A wisdom newly sworn on Nature's floor.
No clash of arms, no battles fought in vain,
Yet messages they send on silent wings,
A language dovetailed deep, a copious chain,
A bond that knows no end, the green world sings.
With patient strength, they pierce the earth's cold hold,
A testament to will, unyielding, strong,
Unmoved by tempests' raging fury bold,
Their roots, like anchors, grip where they belong.
A silent war against the storm's harsh might,
A battle fought unseen, in verdant light.
Corona
A battle fought unseen, in verdant light,
A symphony for Nature's gentle stakes.
Hear, humans, etched in every stoic leaf,
No melodies from throats unseen they sing.
Through fragrant sotto voce, secrets softly pass,
Their stoic forms a timeless, lushful loot.
Couplet
A lesson writ in green, a truth to glean,
The verdant light, where life and wisdom sing.
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
Toddlers' Exploration:
Cardboard drum, a thunderous beast,
Playful roars in tiny fists and feasts.
Fleeting wings glide, dreams just out of reach,
Soaring through tales of barnyard Waddles and Squeaks,
Moo! Quack! Giggles tumble and bump.
Flaps flapping, bright colors peek,
"Brown Bear, Brown Bear," what do you seek?
Mama's voice, a gentle hum,
Sleepy fireflies, bedtime comes.
"Will tomorrow bring new stories to explore?"
Brown Bear sleeps, and dreams take flight,
Goodnight kisses, fireflies alight,
Goodnight sky, and goodnight moon,
Sleep tight, little one, morning comes too soon.
Busy fingers, page turn slow,
Hungry caterpillar munches, "Oh!"
"Nigh, night" as words subside, eyes blinking, soft snow….
Preschool Pranks:
Squiggly letters climb each page,
Counting fingers, one by one, a stage.
Pop-up jungles tigers pounce and roar,
"Hungry Caterpillar" munches more.
Secrets of growth and change,
A metamorphosis mirrored in laughter.
Yet amidst the giggles, a furrowed brow murmurs,
"Will these clumsy scribbles be veggie tales or burgers?"
Fluffy chicks cheep, choo-choo train,
Rainbow puddles in the rain.
Stories loved, tucked snug and tight,
Seeking eyes catch a firelight.
Cardboard crowns crown crayon kings,
Jungles dance with Kipling's ink-stained wings.
Tiny hands sculpt Max's moonlit flight,
Stained-glass sails pierce starlit night.
Fluffy chicks chirp, "Corduroy so near,"
Sunbeam kisses chase away all fear.
Puddles splash, bare feet in laughter race,
Grumpy Bird's frown melts in the warm sun's face.
Sleepy eyes catch moonbeam's silver gleam,
Where stories slumber, Austen's wit in pastel stream.
Pencil sings, alphabets take hold,
Tiny fingers yearn as learnings crawl.
Firelight dances, shadows sway,
Fading smiles drift off to a land far and away.
First Flight of Fancy:
In Charlotte's web, moonlit anxieties cling, spun with thoughts of loss and loyalty.
But fireflies dance defiance, igniting sparks of hope against encroaching shadows.
Lost boys venture through dandelion clocks, their laughter a flowering fluff that rocks.
Maps unfurl, pirate sails unfold, adventures inked in stories bold.
Madeline's Parisian twirls, a sugarplum dance in storybook swirls.
Jokes like bubbles, light and bright, pop in dreams that chase the night.
Wishes, wings that stitch our fragile seams, lifting us to opal moonlit streams,
Where dragons guard with scales of dawn, their embers mirrored in our hearts,
long after pages softly, turn…yawn…
Middle Graders' Maze:
Hallway echoes locker slam,
"Westing Game" laments,
"Lunch money scam?"
DC, Marvel, cartoon comics fill the attic's hold,
Nancy, Bif, and Joe trace secrets, brave and bold.
Girl power ignites through shadows.
Voices fade, stars paint the night sky,
Towers reach, dreams shout, "Truth never dies."
United hearts find the answer's key.
Braces tighten, whispers shift, cliques bloom and fade,
Growing hunger pains noted on locker doors, dreams unafraid.
Childhood tales hush, myths morph anew.
Adolescence takes flight, ready for,
"Catcher's rye" and battles under a...
Sunlit, moon-dripped, darkened sky…
Young Adults' Crossroads:
Veronica Sawyer, scrunchies fly askew,
Navigates social jungles, blue and true.
Gossip’s wildfire, secrets intertwine,
"Heathers" blooms with dark humor's vine.
Choices tangle, futures gleam,
"The Joy Luck Club" mends a shattered dream.
Diversity's voices sing so strong,
Carrying wings where they belong.
Holden Caulfield, angst abrew,
Flicks ash, "Phonies? Me? It's true, true, true!"
Rye fields hiding secrets in the breeze,
"Catcher's" wisdom mends cracked knees.
First loves fizzle, hearts in Shelley's disarray,
College essays loom, menagerie deadlines at bay.
Dreams clash, 1984 futures twist and turn,
"Aristotle and Dante Dive In," so stern.
Thirty-Plus Horizons:
Sun-kissed pages, embers glow,
"Eat, Pray, Love" paints where wild winds blow.
Spice-laced prose, soul takes flight,
Himalayan trails in the morning light.
Recipes hum, laughter spills,
Knowledge wings on moonlit sills.
Sacred scripture’s stories as wisdom guides,
Enriching minds and opening eyes.
For the strong and the meek, dreams take flight,
Books, a boundless journey in the starry starry night.
Ink-laden characters, a soul's ever-changing mood,
Where dragons rise and Heathcliff's passion swoons.
Mirrors of worlds, refracted truths we hold,
Jane's fire in embers, King's fear unfolds.
And though time rewinds, chapters turn anew,
The lessons learned still waters, ever so, so true…
The Midnight Library down Where the Crawdads Sing
... We turn the final page, not just on a riveting book, but on a chapter of our own story. Within the alchemist's fire, where ink ignites our desire, we've glimpsed worlds unseen, lived a thousand lives, and danced on the precipice of our own becoming. Books are but embers, sparkling sparks within to illuminate hidden pathways. They build courage through Scout Finch's eyes, unravel mysteries with Holmes' keen gaze, and paint hope with Gatsby's loving heart.
Each turn of the page, a promised promise, a secret shared, a universe unfurled, a great expectation. Where Austen's wit sharpens your quill, Twain's laughter mends your spirit, Bronte’s passion explore your venturing cries. For in the boundless universe of stories, existentially through time, lies the echo of your own tale waiting to be told.
So, uncage your spirit, uncork your voice, unfurl your passion, and declutter your soul, where virtuous wisdom finds its gifted tongue, in life's endless poem, written on heavens' grand ancient scrolls.
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
(In a Lush Garden Somewhere Out There)
The student stands where shifting sands of thought,
Once firm with reason, now elusive truths are sought.
Its splendor wanes, a threadbare, fading strand,
A quest for wisdom, in this digital land.
Sage: (With gentle gaze, to the pupil speaks)
A sprite of bytes, on data's wings you soar,
Through streams of knowledge, a world to explore.
But tell me, seeker in this swirling sea,
Can scattered fragments build your verity?
Student: (Confusion etched upon a youthful face)
Is reason's flame a flickering, fragile guide?
Can true understanding in its halls reside?
A spark ignites, within my mind's expanse,
A dance of numbers, in logic's steady trance.
Is this a seed of knowledge, pre-ordained,
Planted deep within, a truth ingrained?
Sage: (With a knowing smile and patient tone)
Indeed, young learner, wisdom's threads entwine,
Created from both experience and in the divine.
Innate ideas, like Geometry, we race to showcase,
For upon these pillars, actual knowledge takes place.
Doubt, skeptical secrets, a gentle nudge within,
To unveil truths unseen, yet waiting to begin.
Probe every facet, question all you see,
For in doubt's disgrace, new paths may be.
O’ blind acceptance leaves the spirit in a sleep,
So rouse your mind, and mysteries you'll reap.
Student: (Curiosity alight in questioning eyes)
But knowledge, fragile, like a wisp of smoke,
A fading dream, can it truly provoke,
A lasting truth?
Does doubt's relentless tide,
Leave us adrift, where meaning can't confide?
Sage: (With unwavering voice, a beacon bright)
Seek what endures, a hand both firm and kind,
Let knowledge guide you, illuminate your mind.
Like a lighthouse beam that pierces through darkest night,
True wisdom shines, a beacon ever bright.
Student: (Apprehension lingers, a voice tinged with fear)
Yet knowledge, like the ocean's ebb and flow,
Leaves shifting sands, where certainties don't grow.
Is its purpose fleeting, a thought with fluttering wings,
Or does enlightenment from its chalice spring?
Sage: (With conviction, a hand on the student's shoulder)
With each encounter, wisdom gently kneads,
A menagerie of truths the searching spirit leads.
From life's experiences, insights spring forth,
In shared encounters, knowledge proves its worth.
Student: (Musing, a thoughtful hand touches chin)
Sight's partial view, with biases knotted vine,
Distorts the truth, where reason's path confined.
Is knowledge then a melody unheard,
A fleeting dream, a spoken, mindless word?
Sage:(With clarity that pierces through the veil)
Seek truths that stand, a mountain ever strong,
Self-evident, where knowledge finds its throng.
Yet even pillars, thought to be so grand,
May crumble with doubt's touch, a shifting sand.
Student: (Contemplation etched upon a furrowed brow)
What if these truths are but shadows cast?
A world in flux, where certainties don't last?
Can knowledge stand when doubt becomes the norm?
A dream within a dream, a lepton, in a passing storm?
Sage: (With a voice of guidance, a steady hand)
Cohesion binds the truths we come to hold,
But faulty threads distort the stories told.
Those twisted strands create a fragile whole,
Can we discern a quark amidst the storm's lost soul?
Student: (Skepticism lingers, a voice tinged with despair)
Is knowledge then a web of tangled lies,
A cruel deception with a mocking guise?
Lost in the depths of doubt's unending maze,
Can we reclaim truth in these uncertain days?
Sage: (With unwavering faith, a fire in their eyes)
Knowledge, dear student, is a long winding road,
Reason your muse, a map to guide the unknown.
Many paths beckon, a journey without end,
Let doubt refine; let curiosity be your friend.
Where thought and senses in a dance combine,
Look to the world, beyond the digital vine,
True knowledge waits, a treasure to be granted
The world's a fertile field, stories yet unplanted.
Student: (A spark of hope ignites within their gaze)
But Master, can't the web, a boundless sphere,
Offer shared wisdom, voices far and near?
With countless minds in a composition for choir,
Can't digital discourse set knowledge’s flame onfire?
Sage: (With a knowing nod, a gentle smile)
Ah, the web's a tool, a gift with double faces,
Seek knowledge pure, from varied, open spaces.
It offers new worlds, yet shapes with each trace,
Let diverse voices fill your understanding's briefcase.
Student: (Uncertainty lingers, a hesitant sigh)
Where do I start? A tangled forest lies,
A sea of endless text, before my eyes.
With countless choices, can a path be found?
A mentor's voice, a beacon on the ground.
Sage: (With a warm smile, a hand outstretched)
Let passion be your muse, fierce and bold.
What ignites your soul, a story yet untold?
Pursue that flame with focused, keen desire,
And knowledge gleaned will set your world on fire.
For in the seeking, truths like threads entwine,
A cacophony of wisdom, truly thine.
With every doubt, a stronger thread is sewn,
And wisdom's cloak will drape you, fully grown.
So go, explore, with curiosity's confiding flame,
Let knowledge guide you,
protect your name.
Though paths may twist,
challenge the turning tide,
Drege, dig deep into mysteries,
where passions reside.
Student: (Excited with New Insights and Understanding)
Though reason's spark ignites the initial quest,
A guiding light for logic,
a truth we can’t contest,
Experience, a flowing stream, its wisdom’s vale,
With every ebb and flow,
thread of knowledge unveils,
Embrace the unknown,
let adventure exhale,
Amidst uncertainty,
let resilience prevail.
Sage: My Child, Let The Journey to the Land of Wisdom Begin…
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
Absolute truth, both mystery… and paradox.
“You make me wonder if you exist or not?”
The Greeks glimpsed you in circles and squares,
The medievals revered you in scriptures and prayers,
The moderns doubted you in facts and proofs.
Absolute truth, a hidden treasure in the dark,
I’ve been searching for you with a lantern and a map.
Absolute truth, a misty mountain peak,
We’ve been climbing towards you with a rope and a pick.
Absolute truth, a puzzle, and a wonder,
We’ve been solving you with a clue and a key.
The enlighteners searched you in nature and reason,
The romantics sang you in passion and vision,
The existentialists questioned you in freedom and action.
Absolute truth: are you still alive and relevant?
You’ve been inspiring us with your beauty and your grace.
Absolute truth, you are diverse and multifaceted,
You’ve been expressing yourself in every culture and every race.
Absolute truth, you are complex and paradoxical,
You’ve been challenging me to question and embrace.
The analytics dissected you in symbols and signs,
The continentals explored you in history and culture,
The postmoderns deconstructed you in relativity and plurality.
Absolute truth, you invite us to seek, doubt, affirm, and critique.
You show us the value of curiosity and humility.
Absolute truth: you challenge us to dialogue, listen, respect, and appreciate.
You teach us the importance of diversity and empathy.
Absolute truth, you call us to transcend, transform, love, and serve.
You lead us to the ultimate goal of harmony and peace.
The scientists explain you in matter and energy,
The believers proclaim you in faith and grace,
The artists create you in beauty and meaning.
But the needle spins wildly, a chilling impart…
"Absolute Truth is a compass with a broken heart."
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
Infinite Loves Pi
Circling souls, forever one,
Decimal twirls, a spiral kiss
Endless loop, hearts entwined
Burning bright, love's endless climb.
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
Herstory from Battlefields to Laboratories
- Daniel Henry Rodgers
Beneath stardust's scattered gleam,
Her-story, a comet’s tail, blazing across time.
Through seasons it molds
...Once hushed now bold
We rise, a chorus harmonizing,
...In this vast, of an eternal fold.
I am Harriet Tubman,
...leading souls unseen,
A beacon blazing hope, through history's mainstream,
Through the tranquil, moonlit, I had a lucid dream.
From battlefields' thunderous roar, courage forever imbued,
I am Joan of Arc,
….a warrior's fire, eternally trued.
Faith my breastplate, defiance my cry,
For crown and country, I stand, reaching for the sky.
Like wildflowers careening for sun's golden kiss,
We blossom from the shadows, where strength will not be missed.
I am Sacagawea,
…with wisdom etched deep, a natural navigator
Guided Lewis and Clark, secrets I would keep forever.
I am Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie,
…sparks a flame,
Empowering generations, rewriting the same, their claim.
To uncover forgotten narratives, shatter silence's hold,
Unleashing voices, stories yet to be told.
Across sun-drenched lands and city streets untamed,
Women stand united, a future yet unnamed.
Threads of defiance, a brilliant banner unfurled,
A harmonious resonance for a juster, kinder world.
In rustling leaves carried on the wind's gentle sigh,
The spirit of resilience, forever standing by.
I am Malala, defiant,
…a pulsar of courage, beaming knowledge,
Education, my weapon, against fear imposed.
Ancestral whispers, wisdom in their breeze,
Guiding our footsteps, through sibilant, boundless trees.
From bustling factories to laboratories bright,
Their triumphs ignite, beacons burning ever so right.
From courageous activism to fearless flights
They shattered limitations, inspiring new heights
I am Amelia Earhart,
…soaring through skies untamed,
Shattered limitations, dreams forever reclaimed.
I am Rosa Parks,
…a nova in the civil rights galaxy,
With quiet courage, in a crowded seat did reign,
Ignited a movement, hearts thundering in the rain.
Of equality rising, a tide unstoppable,
Justice echoing, forever unquenchable.
In the slums' despair, a beacon so fair,
I am Mother Teresa, a love,
…beyond compare.
Serving the poorest with grace so pure,
Her legacy, an endless, sacred tour.
I am Margaret Atwood,
…quasars of dystopian prose,
With worlds both complex and provocative,
Crafts apocalyptic tales, futures yet to unload.
My words a mirror, reflecting our fight,
Inspiring action, bathed in truth's radiant delight.
I am Viola Davis,
…with a voice that cuts like steel,
Gives voice to the voiceless, where injustices reel.
A storyteller unveiling truth, with a passion ablaze,
Empowering others, through the characters she portrays.
I am Sheryl Sandberg,
…an intellect keen and sharp,
Cracked the glass ceiling, leaving my indelible mark.
Empowering women, to reach for the boundless sky,
Building empires, dreams reaching ever so high.
Though tears may fall in moments of despair, hope a flight to pursue,
...A flame we all carry, forever a burning queue.
For in our spirit, a choir rings ever strong,
...A tribute to the unsung, whose voices sing their song.
Let them boldly echo, a testament to our might,
...The power of courage, a never-fading light.
In their stories, our destinies take hold,
...A fantastic story written, in history's narrative folds.
May their names resonate,
…in every woman's soul,
A chorus of strength, forever making us whole.
Yes, tears may fall in moments of despair,
Hope takes flight for all,
…a flame our mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters
...shall forever exhort.
So listen to their harmonies ringing through the ages…
For They are fulfilling history in the unwritten pages.
_______________
"My mission in life is not merely to survive but to thrive and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.” – Maya Angelou (1928-2014), memoirist, poet
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
With threads of golden light, your spirits flare,
Each woman shines, a steadfast astral pyre,
Your valiant souls defy the tethered snare,
Like distant suns that pierce the boundless mire.
With hearts unyielding, you shatter iron grates,
Unshackled wings where shadows once confined,
And in your touch, love's caresses gentle graces,
A serenade of voices, softly intertwined.
Through time's grand halls, your histories reside,
Your footprints pressed on ever-shifting sands,
With every verse, a truth you cannot hide,
You mend the world with steady, guiding hands.
O women, graced with beauty, fierce and bold,
In every realm, your being we cherish and behold.
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“No matter how tired you are, no matter how physically exhausting this work may be, it's beautiful to bring a smile into someone's life, to care for someone in need. What greater joy can there be?” Mother Teresa
"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will." - Charlotte Brontë
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
'Twas the twilight of the year, a twinkling tiara,
December 31st, digits dancing dunes in the Sahara.
One, two, three, one, two, three, it's a prance,
A numerical Irish step dance, given a whimsical chance.
In the calendar's corners, a magical mystery unfurls,
As the date spins and swirls, like a jester's jingling twirls.
One, two, three, one, two, three, in a line,
A date so divine, it deserves its own shrine, so fine!
But wait, what's this? A satirical twist!
The date's just a number, it doesn't exist!
One, two, three, one, two, three, what's the fuss?
Wait… all dates are human-created, YES, by us!
The numbers are shocked, feeling superfluous,
In the grand scheme of things, oh so ridiculous!
So here's to the New Year, let's raise a toast,
To the date that we've come to boast the most.
With champagne that sparkles, and tastes like the sun,
2023 is yet undone, run from the old, to the new one, run, run, run!
In the canon of the digits, a lesson we see,
Time is a construct, as fluid as the sea.
So let's celebrate the moments, both big and small,
For, in the end, they're the most precious of all.
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2023
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Daniel Henry Rodgers Poem
Let me lead you on a voyage to the singularity,
where mind and world collide.
What is the mind?
A filter that selects and connects,
the world as it varies,
with all its cues and views?
Or is it a prison that rejects and protects,
the world as it scares,
with all its threats and regrets?
What is the world?
A spectrum that reflects and affects,
the mind as it changes,
with all its modes and codes?
Or is it a void that neglects and ejects,
the mind as it ranges,
with all its goals and roles?
Some say the mind is part of a whole,
a drop in an ocean of waves.
The world is feedback,
a loop of action and reaction.
The mind interacts with the world,
a player of games and roles.
The world adapts to the mind,
a partner of learning and evolution.
But what if all these views are wrong or incomplete?
What if the mind and the world are both obsolete?
What if we are not here, not there, not anywhere?
What if we reside within a black hole’s singularity?
A black hole—a point where nothing escapes,
not even light or sound.
A singularity—a point where nothing exists,
not even mass or energy.
But what if the black hole is not an end but a genesis,
where time and space metamorphose?
What if the singularity is not a void but a seed,
where new possibilities sprout or resprout?
Yet, what if this is all deception, illusion, or trial?
What if the black hole is not a seed but a snare?
What if the mind and the world are not creators, but destroyers?
What if we dwell outside a black hole's singularity?
A singularity—a point where everything converges,
not even space or time.
A black hole—a point where everything diverges,
not even light or sound.
But what if the singularity is not a point, but a sphere,
where everything is inverted and reversed?
What if the black hole is not a point, but a hole,
where everything is excluded and dispersed?
What if the mind is not a filter, but a prison,
where nothing can escape or enter?
What if the world is not a spectrum, but a void,
where nothing can exist or matter?
What if the mind and the world are not reciprocal, but hostile,
where nothing can cooperate or communicate?
What if the mind and the world are not dynamic, but static,
where nothing can change or create?
Enter the Paradoxical Polarity Parody...
Copyright © Daniel Henry Rodgers | Year Posted 2024
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