"The Cave Revisited"

And there was no formation like any other;

 Like it and it, in and of itself,

 

It was confusing.

 

And the things that went there, seeking shelter,

 Were no more things than they were others; other things.

 

Things that sought shelter.

 

And in the lip, tucked,

 Was the reason for formation; yet, it also meant ill.

 

Ill was the reasoning for seeking.

 

And at the base of a mountain there is a pillar,

 Erected by and for things and shameful in its entirety.

 

For what is there to profess when things cannot explain their most profound ideas?

 

Mountains are pillars and pillars are mountains, and things are other things;

 Things making things, erecting things, constructing things, devising things.

 

Things are addicted to other things.

 

Within a cave there is a reason for that cave existing,

 And in that reason is a reason for reasoning.

 

What is to be said of said reasoning?

 

And, of course, there is creation.

 The thing by which things are justifying existing.

 

To create is to live and to die is to also create.

 

Clichés upon clichés; there is no end to the paramount.

 And the paramount is good and the world is good.

 

To view it differently is to be found different;

 

Apart and a lone; not a part, and not together.

 To many, their views are their world and their world is finite.

 

To perceive the world is to throw yourself into the opinions of others;

 

Your perception is as another's, and another's is yours.

 Your eyes are not your own; they are the subject of another.

 

Another's eyes are your own;

 

What they see is what they make of it for you, of you.

 Of an ignorance of their own perceptions, they make your world.

 

For you, of you. By you and the rest of them.

 

And the great thing about this, and its worst face, its fatal item,

 Is that the wonder of the world is nothing but the misconceptions of the many, and any beauty therein is nothing but a quick glance; and errant fancy.

 

And there are bonds in anonymity; bonds in the finite, the vague, the illusion.

 

The magic of unknowing, the ill-illumination of the cave makes it this way.

 The way a mountain becomes a hill; a crack, a rift; a lake, an ocean; a man, a god.

 

And god is? And God is?

 

What can you make of it? If someone was to say that we are god, that we are God, then what would you say?

 Imagine with me for today, tomorrow, the rest of your life;

 

Something, somewhere, is waiting. Waiting for a chance.

 

And that chance is to become like you, of you, for you.

 They do not know you, because they are not you.

 

And is God, god, the knowing?

 

But we people, we live in our contradictions, our opposites;

 

Good is defined by what the most naive person makes of it.

 And that is ignorant, stupid, and selfish.

 

And to look back on it all,

 

Many would have it the same way; again, and again,

 

Something concrete that can be related upon.

 

Due to the fleetness of memory and body, of gods.

Reviews

[Darkevin]

The emotion far outweighs the wording. As I am sure is your intent. Those which understand not are unworthy of understanding, and those who sneer will remove the blinders at trail's end.