Inhaling the wind and starring at the ebbs hit and miss from a distance,
A place I go to rest and be; a place I guard furtively, like the pastor guards his greed.
Lost in the unmolested quietness away from our arachnid spirits,
I saw that strange gray fish, swimming by itself, in waters filled with legions of strange kin,
By itself, as the others were preoccupied with avian pursuits!
There was anxiety, there was desperation, there was weariness
There was many of them, facing the illusion, attempting to fly no more, as they drowned and died
I was still astonished by the lone gray fish - swimming by itself, as fish drowned all around it!
Trying to recover from the daymare, I was determined to dream with care.
I was walking back home that day
Limbs weak from all the fray, and it occurred to me, there must be another way.
Of animals, plants and rocks, there was one to whom the symbol spake
Breaking that moment of trance, I recalled the archaic Prussian rant-
"It is dead. It remains dead. And we have killed it."
To make yet break, to speak yet quiet, I was coming to the hurricane with a walking cane!
Wanting no more redemption, progress I sought no more
And big bang! At once I found myself at peace again
Looking on, at the myriad advancing fangs,
And men falling to the ground like lead-heavy rain
Because Progress, their God, was dead.
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Genius art stolen from limnides
Poem inspired by the philosophy of John Gray
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