51
Homo
Nuovo
Does it really matter that we can travel in time
if we have not become what we’re meant to be? Time travel
only delays our destined purpose, and we must
always return to face the music.
And does it matter that we can teleport from here to there
when we’re still the same person? We may have conquered
time travel and teleportation, a very secret agenda, but
does this help us fulfill our destined purpose?
Souls from other worlds have heeded the call to raise the
vibrations of life on earth to save our troubled planet, but
what does this tell us about who we are? Aren’t
we free to change our karmic timeline?
It doesn’t matter how much we evolve in mind and body,
the buck always stops with us, and not until we pay the
piper
will homo sapiens stop
evading his essential nature
and evolve into homo
nuovo.
52
The Writer`s Heart
His self-confident voice
was redolent
with the wisdom of
overcoming,
and every word he
uttered
came from his soul, —
O victory!
Like a compulsive worm
writhing
through the grime of
urban life,
he slithered his lonely
way
to new understanding,
—
O victory!
One story led to another,
easily
finding their way
into the New Yorker,
and he elated with
giddy delight
at his creations;
but his story
never ended, —
O victory!
Always hovering near
a greatness he
was too shrewd or
diffident to risk,
he garnered the
Pulitzer with ease;
but the Nobel always
eluded his
gifted, covetous reach.
When asked why on
his deathbed, he
smiled bewilderment;
but the twinkle
in his little rabbit`s
eye betrayed the
writer’s heart, robbing
Death of
its assured victory.
53
A Window
Sitting at my desk writing
poetry
a window opened up
to me, and
I saw what I could
not have
seen many years ago.
The window opened onto
a world
that looked the same
as mine,
but only millions of
years ahead
of our troubled time.
I saw reptilian
beings far advanced
in mental powers and
technology,
but they were less
than human
in spiritual
discernment.
And I saw another peculiar
race
of ant-like
creatures more evolved
than the reptilians,
but they too
were spiritually
insufficient.
I could not pull my
eyes away;
but when I had seen
enough of these
higher races, the
window closed
and I returned to my
poetry.
54
The Poet’s Daemon
Is it cryptic or
deceptive
when the poet
conceals
what his daemon chooses
to reveal?
The poet does not know
what his poems will
discover;
he goes in blind
into the
caverns of his mind.
He may not find what
he is
looking for, but he trusts
his daemon to light the way
to his hidden treasure.
That’s the nature of
the poet’s
way, and he has no
say on how
his daemon chooses to reveal
the wisdom of his poetry.
55
Envy
We love most
what we cannot have,
and envy those
that have it.
It is to our nature
to be this way,
but it doesn’t have
to be
if we are free.
This is our dilemma,
and not until we
resolve
this inherency can
we
love without envy.
No comments:
Post a Comment