The Gaping Void
Careening Quickly down
the old worn path;
(I, He, We, They) travel,
Stumbling, falling, finding nothing
at the end, save the end itself.
The infinite chasm beckons to
the evelasting forest, "Come, greet your
friendly neighbor, I mean no harm!" The forest recoils,
tries to forego the inevitable progression
into the desert beyond.
A swallow, tiny against the broad distance;
flies, falls, beats furiously, and arrives
at it's final destination, no worse for wear.
Satisfied, he rests upon the fruitful limbs,
the last remaining safety in a world,
Where chasms loom, threaten all life, and take
all beings to the depth, in the end.
The cliffside cries, weeps, pours
it's emotions into the canyon below.
"Why must all fall to your treacherous call?
You devious siren, beckoning all to the "glories"
of the mountain top, only to pull them, suck them,
into your mouth below, eating the very being of the
creatures that fear you so." The canyon, broad and deep,
grinning wide, laughed, exclaiming; "You should not fight
so hard, dear brother, fairer brother; giving that damned
forest roots in your broad beautiful face. You think
of the forest above yourself, sweet child,
for when the forest falls, old friend, I will taste your
blood as well, that night. You will fall, soon, late;
It matters not, brother, I will wait."
"Why? Lord, fair creator of the All,
would you allow such an evil to take root,
that wretched mouth, calling, beckoning, swallowing
all that reach the end?" The cold man cried, clutching
the tattered remains of an evening gown.
The wind blew softly, persauding the trees to be His voice,
calling to that brave man, promising the Truth,
so that all might find hope and Bless The Name.
"Come to the End, that place you fear, and attach
thyself to the rock, so that We may teach you the Truth."
The man shivered, stood agape, let slip the question
in his mind, and on his lips.
"We, mine Lord? How dost thou then suppose I attach mine self
to Thou rock? How will I know that yonder rock is rock
that Thou, in thy blessed nature, hath appointed for mine
saving grace?" The man trembled, shook, afraid the words
would not comfort his wearied mind.
"We are Everything, my Child. You must find the saving rock,
of your own accord. That is the price, of seeking Knowledge."
The man started forward, stumbled, and
fell into a run. He flew down the beaten path,
searching for the saving grace that must greet
him before the End. He spun about, eyeing the
scenery before him, and spotted, on the hill
the only branch left on an otherwise bare tree.
"Yes!" he thought, "This must be my saving grace!"
"The very forest," he thought, "is the rock on
which I must stand. The forest that had been plowed,
pushed aside, to make the path on which I travel."
He reached out, grasped the branch, and flew into the air.
"Oh! How the birds must soar!" he thought, "No need for
anchor, no branch beneath thy wing, out and over the
terrible crevace!"
"Snap!" His anchor broken, old and dead was the tree,
all the trees of the once magnificent forest. The trees
saved none, they also were counted amongst the dead and dying.
How He flew, fell, into The Great Beyond!
The Gaping Mouth that greets us all when the path is through.
"Oh!, Had the Forest been saved, So would I!
Why, dear Lord! Why didst thou trick me, leading me, All,
to this bitter end?" The cold voice answered,
"We called to you to Teach The Meaning, and this is such;"
'Speed not to the End, nor pave a road behind,
the rougher journey produces the finer flight!'
Careening Quickly down
the old worn path;
(I, He, We, They) travel,
Stumbling, falling, finding nothing
at the end, save the end itself.
the old worn path;
(I, He, We, They) travel,
Stumbling, falling, finding nothing
at the end, save the end itself.
The infinite chasm beckons to
the evelasting forest, "Come, greet your
friendly neighbor, I mean no harm!" The forest recoils,
tries to forego the inevitable progression
into the desert beyond.
A swallow, tiny against the broad distance;
flies, falls, beats furiously, and arrives
at it's final destination, no worse for wear.
Satisfied, he rests upon the fruitful limbs,
the last remaining safety in a world,
Where chasms loom, threaten all life, and take
all beings to the depth, in the end.
The cliffside cries, weeps, pours
it's emotions into the canyon below.
"Why must all fall to your treacherous call?
You devious siren, beckoning all to the "glories"
of the mountain top, only to pull them, suck them,
into your mouth below, eating the very being of the
creatures that fear you so." The canyon, broad and deep,
grinning wide, laughed, exclaiming; "You should not fight
so hard, dear brother, fairer brother; giving that damned
forest roots in your broad beautiful face. You think
of the forest above yourself, sweet child,
for when the forest falls, old friend, I will taste your
blood as well, that night. You will fall, soon, late;
It matters not, brother, I will wait."
"Why? Lord, fair creator of the All,
would you allow such an evil to take root,
that wretched mouth, calling, beckoning, swallowing
all that reach the end?" The cold man cried, clutching
the tattered remains of an evening gown.
The wind blew softly, persauding the trees to be His voice,
calling to that brave man, promising the Truth,
so that all might find hope and Bless The Name.
"Come to the End, that place you fear, and attach
thyself to the rock, so that We may teach you the Truth."
The man shivered, stood agape, let slip the question
in his mind, and on his lips.
"We, mine Lord? How dost thou then suppose I attach mine self
to Thou rock? How will I know that yonder rock is rock
that Thou, in thy blessed nature, hath appointed for mine
saving grace?" The man trembled, shook, afraid the words
would not comfort his wearied mind.
"We are Everything, my Child. You must find the saving rock,
of your own accord. That is the price, of seeking Knowledge."
The man started forward, stumbled, and
fell into a run. He flew down the beaten path,
searching for the saving grace that must greet
him before the End. He spun about, eyeing the
scenery before him, and spotted, on the hill
the only branch left on an otherwise bare tree.
"Yes!" he thought, "This must be my saving grace!"
"The very forest," he thought, "is the rock on
which I must stand. The forest that had been plowed,
pushed aside, to make the path on which I travel."
He reached out, grasped the branch, and flew into the air.
"Oh! How the birds must soar!" he thought, "No need for
anchor, no branch beneath thy wing, out and over the
terrible crevace!"
"Snap!" His anchor broken, old and dead was the tree,
all the trees of the once magnificent forest. The trees
saved none, they also were counted amongst the dead and dying.
How He flew, fell, into The Great Beyond!
The Gaping Mouth that greets us all when the path is through.
"Oh!, Had the Forest been saved, So would I!
Why, dear Lord! Why didst thou trick me, leading me, All,
to this bitter end?" The cold voice answered,
"We called to you to Teach The Meaning, and this is such;"
'Speed not to the End, nor pave a road behind,
the rougher journey produces the finer flight!'
Careening Quickly down
the old worn path;
(I, He, We, They) travel,
Stumbling, falling, finding nothing
at the end, save the end itself.