What Lies Beneath?
From pulp to palpitation cycles spin.
Some trace a line or two, leaves from life's tree
imprint upon collective memory -
the music of the spheres, a melody
transcending time itself and its oubli,
provide emotions and tonality
which, although evanescent, all would win,
to find oasis of serenity, -
cool shade not shadow of humanity, -
amidst the desert of incessant din
of universal static all would flee.
The flotsam of time's bark one need not pin
down too precisely. Much dexterity
excludes from fields of vision feelings free
which life enrich with spice we sense, not see, -
like perfume on the winds of change to key
ambiance of death or dance, chance we
must find to take, create to breathe, as in
a trance we dream we age by Fate's decree....
or else we drown in ephemerity.
Page turns before most even may begin
to taste their birthright - inner harmony.
Page turns before most balance yang and yin,
they hungry hang in fear and equally
protest vain light and night's eternity.
Between expectancy, acceptancy,
receding hairline space defines 'to be'
against a background continuity
where change - to which when young they felt akin -
turns traitor, turns on former guarantee
to formalize a fress integrity
based upon another Benjamin
before whose might old generations flee.
Few understand what lies beneath life's skin,
can cause, effect, decode with probity,
can probe, decipher mo[ve]ment's mystery,
can step by step retrace through history
their story sense endowed. Most men agree
to hide behind their own effrontery
rather than face their ‘present’ destiny
whose cards tomorrow's possibility
can for today's success deal seamlessly.
Few understand to start is to begin
to undermine all false security.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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