Manifest
Art is the wisdom of wonder
where mystery’s the host - who lingers
after all the others have gone home.
the finest manifestation of truth
is to ponder the unknown
… to identify with souls
while letting mind retreat behind
where beauty is allowed;
respected and revered and even danced around
as birds in song upon phoshilaron.
the pause that humans share -
to gawk (or even gaze) at everybody’s sun
reclining sky sighs whispering colors all to rest.
why? where even blind ones see, with ears;
the color sounds that say the
ending of a day.
so this is truth?
that beauty is allowed; respected and revered
and even danced around -
as children’s eyes beneath their mother’s lullabys.
t’would be something good to hear your soul surrender if you would
sing one sigh - a lull…
unto yourself. or to some fear
or to the enemies out there. (their ears
would finally hear.)
a song. a hum. a feather drum.
the sabbath muse will take you there… you’re Saul, releasing to the lull:
the only flag
to cross the boundaries of war.
the muse will use the code you knew so well so long ago and
it’ll stop you in your tracks.
it’s in the blues. it’s in the black. it’s in the light.
the dreams, the skies, the funkifies.
elusive lines and shapes and edges hard or soft
(to phrase the loss)
for ears and eyes to find
then armored hearts decipher.
Reason comes and
putting down your guns,
you all surrender.