So Strikes—The Minds of Us…

333“Courage is grace under pressure”…from ‘The Old Man and The Sea’ by Ernest Hemingway

We—determine—destiny—as spirits and as flesh? Angry Gods—do not exist. Angry men—matter little—except to scrubs—of scurry selves—beings—just spinning matter of expressions. Rude—the kings and queens—of foolish speak—when angles fall—toward earthbound trivial…Moment Gods—require no explanations—when fear rules—these angled angels. As flesh—we return—turned peace—to war and gash—slash ‘cross—another spin of earth. Battle— disturbs the strength—of peace and the balance of life. We war—against nothing—save ideas and the—ideals of anti-life. Remove religions and governments and kings and queens! Better-to-fall-in-love—and not—fall-in-battle—donchathink?

We work these fields—beneath sing-song wires and lengths of wave grain—toward the forever of sight—out-in and back again…Brushed wind—white tunics—seagull wings—flapping over soil black and breeze seeded—hand to bag—to sky—to flip ‘cross ground rich—water ditch—return again—‘til tunic—lost shapes—into the bluest evening mist of planet wash and evening spin…

We turn now toward—forked road—ways beyond sighted-righted places—and our stars of guiding trails—twisted—misted—shakes and quakes—push-pull us—toward left trails or right paths…Guiding compass—lodestone—or stars—point the way—only one direction—to go and to return—toward—this direction taken—always pointed—is pointed—toward us…

Look—ahead—we heart ask—to find a way—anyway and without voice touch—we know those traveled roads—of desert keep and ground soaked reach…Our hands are covered—centuries deep—dust—with must-do-to-will-not-be—and secrets of the good—of evil—and the surest evil of—good—too great—to see—forgotten heart fears—drying tears—gone voice—silent with—pretty pity and reverence silly-speak—squeak folly—or death…

We cannot know—standing here—if earth twirls at universal core—or still stranded and branded—dust ships swirl across a patch of dark grey—dawn and waiting for rainfall—to clean-wash us and our perch—we hear—here balance upon. Here—hear now—heart cry—sobs—without light—and—waiting without warning—then—just waiting—just begins—to want—again. And! What happiness—happens—is possibly happening—on dust speckled earth-side—through goals higher—than justified—to vindicate happiness—for dust speckled us? Or? Is a dust-speckled ride—a stand-alone stride—alone goal without end—without beginning—without purpose—but-to-be-point—free?

We are not means to an end—others—may wish to accomplish…We are not tools—to be used. We are not servants of need-greed-to-be-freed—or bandages for other wounds—nor sacrifices to gods—come whimsy or rushing wings—gift bearing things—beads—baubles—glitter or flash…We are not born to be wasted or wasted-to-be-born…

Candle light—warms ‘cross tables—rooms—windows-to-windows and sometimes just east-north of darkest—planet spin—where night grin—grim news—‘cross space wig-waggle and eyes search sky—die—search and die—until starship light—lights—night and candle light fosters— hope—before freedom ends—then begins—again. ‘One Thousand Tears’ are longer time—than years of fears—pass star night and moonlight fails. And! You and I are not—ever—born to be wasted—right?

And! Beautiful you are…

‘Born To Be  Wasted’…by Alexander Perls

27 comments on “So Strikes—The Minds of Us…

  1. I feel sadness in this writing and yes, we are not ones to be used or to have fears be filling our minds. We deserve to be respected and everyone’s voices to be heard. Great stuff, Philip.

      • Thank you so much Phil- I wish you the same :) I almost did up an audio for the beautiful piece of writing, as a gift to you, but wasn’t sure about the copyright issue there… Take care and keep on creating!

  2. Awesome picture! Such questions a lighthouse invites. Thoughtful, compelling, and needful that we all consider them before, with time run out. the answer is moot.

    Blessings!

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