Saturday, June 27, 2015

Towards A Renascence of Nothing

For us old souls
Tending to flat
Preparing for
The worst of it
Including the sky’s
Eventual collapse
We must learn
To navigate sightlessly
Just like a bat
Through space time
Dimensionless and
Devoid of meaning
Into the stillness  
Of the evening

Pushing our
Ventricles open wide
Neither pinched or pained
Nor by gloom constrained
But held and sustained
In the durable mesh 
Of Indra’s net

For there
Where East meets West
Let our hearts take rest
With worldly knowledge
From all sides blessed


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