A Thought ~ 8: Secret Texts

One day, what big and small things of life that were once well known shall become secrets much sought after and fought over. And after generations and generations and even millennia of amnesia and ignorance of them, they shall become self-evident and known again -- with much celebration of them as new truths which in truth would be age-old. And it is not that humankind has not seen or sensed or heard this kind of thing before, nor that we had no records and hidden texts to keep us from slumber and help along, nor that we can help it when the cycle returns to its old beginning, which shall appear as new as can ever be.

Windy Light

All the nights we'll ever have
Were born to different mothers.
Free of all the tabu
Any one has known of.

Lone. Herdsman. Upon a hill.
Zooms 
By the remaining day,
Our eyes blurred with earth colors.

Has such fine zebu
As only he has
Songs and numbers for,
Such as you'll never

Hear,
I reckon.
In Payom.

He sees all through us.
By reason of which
We see him. Just. As
We think that we do.

Who will sing Paquita,
Alone, when we're all out
Of this picture,
At last?

Free, alas, at last.

Amidst all this doubt,
Who will tell mama
What we've been through,
Poking the secrets of laughter?

The unbearable truth of sadness.

Who'll send, again,
All the lyrics
We couldn't remember
Only yesterday.

Songs
That perished with the mailman,
That we would like to sing, right
Now?

In the marketplace
All the messages are gone
Crazy
Fuzzy,
No one knows what's happening.

To all the things in our hands.

All the lights
Are blinking.
Green amber and red.
And over and over.

In billowing threads.
In windy light, then!
Alone.

In
A falsified
Solitude comes,
Anew,
The messenger.

Denial

We can live in denial, but should not. Yet what is not to deny isn't necessarily someone else's brand of the truth; someone's own idea of what should or must be.