Supernature
"Supernature"
The walls have eyes here
they are all hungry
they reach up to pluck words
like apples to eat from sacred trees,
it feeds and fuels them
on their irregular journeys
through their pleasing dappled gardens,
gone all dark, forests and woods jaded green,
into their long nights they darkly split, fractions of light,
into dreams like seen as through crystal fragments
of other lives kept tucked away
and hidden under warm headed pillows,
like waiting for the tooth fairy to collect
the loss of something once so precious
in exchange for something beyond belief,
I believe in one God
like I am a Dadaist
spontenaity, negation and absurdity,
I am well open to absurdities, well Open,
the words reverberate: “Life’s not a practice run.” -
then what is Life for in the living, the purpose of it all
if we are indeed returned to the main depository like books read,
and again re-contracted like students to re-attend for the re-run of lessons,
and the continual re-examinations, the positive and negative test results,
taken and given taken and given, given and taken?
surely the practice of returning is for the continual running of Life,
the disorderly keeping of the orderly ordained things,
failures, mistakes, good deeds, miracles and sins, repent, repeat again,
we wake to live it all over again we wake to live it all over again
like glitches in our own personal matrix -
and only when the lesson is finally learned, we are then kept
for all eternity in Elysium, fixed?
I wonder why then, many make the decision to return back-to-Earth again?
the reality is found in small absurdities,
like waifers thin, mass-produced and consecrated, swallowed at Evensong
through music like prayers sung, I sing to call in God
what's inside listens and contemplates
the rights from the wrongs
I swim in the Ocean
like it’s a re-occuring baptism
for one life taken, another life given
it’s natural for the tide to return to the shore
the light of the Moon, always sinks below the horizon,
what’s inside walks barefeet out of the wash
footprints leave their marks in the sand
this much is real
this much I know
the Sun rises again, and again
Candide Diderot. ‘24
"Your path led through the sea,
your way through the mighty waters,
though your footprints were not seen..."
a conversation.
Copyright © Candide Diderot | Year Posted 2024
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