Sense,
Essence,
At a certain distance,
Connected through reverence or vengeance.
For a few a revelation,
Others a illegitimate menace.
Far away from the visceral planes,
Where one notorious thought reins,
In a dream of a certain refrain,
The colours of freedom seem strained.
Through the senses-scintillations,
Through the emotions-vibrations,
The balance of past and future,
Deliberately hang on the vision,
Of a mortal and bound scion.
Words may pass wisdom,
Actions may give martyrdom,
But neither can provoke, freedom,
Unless within the creature arises
A stroke (almost a epiphany,
Yet one of time's boundless nature)
On the verge of breaching space,
Yet binds the universe,
Into the cramped room of a head.
And there it fills the thoughts,
The emotions and something shines,
A rudimentary essence,
The grit of our race's existence.
Origin unknown,
Yet never visceral,
It is the knowledge of many an incidental,
carved into the nerves -the child
Of verses of unknown depths
And the knows worlds' heavens.
And as such a realization dawns upon,
In those glorious hours,which life is called upon,
Everything tries to belong and then in a strung call,
Falls upon and arranges as if bound by a song,
To show the exactitude-the answer to the puzzle
Of living. Yet by the time the strains resurface,
Negligence reverberates and confiscates,
The essence through illusions.
At that,petty decorations need harnessing-
Water needs colour,
For the solvent cannot solve,
The lack of opaque it possesses,
For it is deemed unclean without spillage
For a bearded man said that was its visage.
And while the forces seem violent-
The wind torrential in its wisdom
And the seas tumultuous in action,
Humans throng and try to belong through religion.
The docile are then fermented
With ideas that man is tormented
By the virtues used
To bind him and rule.
Albeit that does come purity,
But then named
Heretic ,by some capricious decree,
Only later , understood to be,
What is really seen;
But veracity needed fire
And so it was lit
With a match upon a soulless hay
With chants of hail for the gist of the display.
Such are binds which curtail the hands
Of values and refined sands.
They call him the devil,
And he does roam among humans.
he has no eight tails waging
Or thirteen a table set,
All he has is a gullible mind
And he does exploit with haste
And then spreads like a plague
From man to man,
Until everyone seems wan
And prone to the entourage
Of a abyss and its flaming reaches,
Illusions bent from the malleable,but
Mind,that oh! if used properly is divine!
Finally as all seem corrupt
And thought dead and shut up,
Struck a ray through the condescending grey,
Creation was set alive again,a rebirth ,
Now life doesn't seem vain.
And that abrupt force was all hailed,
And his words proclaimed
As wisdom, his actions martyrdom,
But fail did everything to grasp its freedom.
Then the devil did descend in full,
Dressed in white,peace he would bring,
No one would sing,the mantras
Of old and sally no more would
The undercurrent wisdom
(Relight by nature with
A little bit of nurture)
As the mirror reflects
The myriad darkness
And in it man would see
Nothing , for an eye
Is as good as its lens,
Mind is as good as its exponent.
But the devil was faced,
He could not rebate
Nor could he reinstate
His hold. The keepers
Were three,wisdom was set free,
Though humans have a hand on
The devil's vehemence,
Another does hold the benevolence,
Of the spirit of creation.
The sevens and nines
Will never die,
Unless new numbers are sworn by,
And so will never the life
Be left astray,
For there is a final way,
The path which all do face
And on a gloom filled morning comes
To the surface,there they do
See the light from the negation,
It is the mere lack of contradiction
Which sets the world into a revolution.
The light shines the brightest
