Continuum

The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the land
Plumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden sky
A man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers
But awakens to a morning with no reason for waking. Sorrow; Pink Floyd

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Continuum
My generation got high
to experience elements
of the continuum.

It was both beautiful
and serene.

But, our minds
became a wasteland
for the triteness of reality.

So, into the forevermore
we stared,
searching
for the magnitude
of understanding,
only to realize
the latitude
of our awareness
was stifled
by limits of space,
mythology,
and thought.

But we stumbled
upon our own feet
while pondering
the greatness of nothing;
intelligence
sometimes opens a door
to an abyss.

Silence,
echoes,
and laughter
haunt the soul
in the presence
of solemnity.

The damned
cry out in fear,
and my generation
gnashed its teeth
in sorrow
as it circled dreams
into a brothel
of misnomers.

The Celtic circle
spins its desire
onto our peasants.

Yet, we blew our brains
onto the streets;
only to allow the vagrants
a chance to supersede
our misfortunes.

The circle has no end.
Infinity has no beginning.
Reality has no dreams.

And my generation
is no longer high.

We can no longer breathe,
nor can we contemplate
the philosophies
of yesterday.

A madness and an echo persists…

She knows only her generation;
the symbiotic understanding
between our souls
is lost in a reality
of the here and now.

Blessed are the damned;
the forevermore offers a hope
and an understanding
only the simple minded
can comprehend.

We define our existence by heaven
and the fear of hell…

The damned, stand in silence. – EjG

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Solomon asked the scribe, “If a picture is worth a thousand words, what are a thousand words worth?”

To which the Scribe replied, “A thousand words are worth a nanosecond of heaven. The musician, the poet, and the philosopher know this all too well.”

And Solomon replied, “I have written a thousand words, have I yet drawn a picture?”

To which the Scribe noted, “You have drawn what needs to be drawn. The mind comprehends nothing more than the reality it perceives in the here and now.”

“And that is knowledge, a picture?” asked Solomon.

“No, that’s understanding. Many have knowledge; few have understanding.” noted the Scribe.

With that said, the heavens opened and we cleansed ourselves within the early fall rains.

“Where will we be in the time of the rapture?” I asked.

Neither the Scribe nor Solomon knew the answer.

And at that we wept.

I think it was closing in on midnight about then.