I have these photographs
of me
but no matter how long
I sit and stare
at them
I just don't see
myself.
How long can a person go
w/out realizing a nature
beyond abstraction?
A
subterranean bonding
of limited flesh
and concrete.
The spirit subsumes
the mortal mortar
binding a spatial connection
between temporal unity and
boundless
expanse;
Nameless, wordless
utterly non-Explainable.
I have these photographs
of me
but no matter how long
I stare at them
they
just stare
blankly back.
So Beam me up Scotty,
I've met the Creator
He had egg on his face,
Red-Eyes,
and
a Duran Duran T-shirt
on his pale, brown back.
Morning Season;
I was alive, energetic
full of inquisitive yearnings
and
naive hope.
By afternoon;
the Season of Change,
I had become self-absorbed.
Ponderous
introspection had replaced the
impulsive bantering of outside interests.
The
bright sunlight of
the noon day sky
slowly settled farther to the West.
Fading
rays growing dimmer,
casting shadow after shadow
across the isolated frontier.
Evening
came;
The Season of Process.
I grew bored w/ all that egocentric
exploration
and
my feet were cut to aces
from walking the Path
of Enlightenment.
The moon
melted
skyward,
while the stars glittered
randomly.
Thousands and thousands
of
tiny shining points.
All seemingly endless as
the days in a Life,
twinkling
sporadically w/out
prediction.
It was all right
there.
A lifetime of
questions
resolved w/ a glance
to the Heavens.
Nightfall;
The Opaque
Season.
The end of the trail.
I was tired;
worn and weatherd.
I shivered
a bit
then smiled.
This day is finished;
A wish for peaceful
sleep.
With
my head in the hands
of the Earth
I await the welcome arrival
of my gentle
rest.
Beneath the paint
and circus of
the Center Ring
lies the broken
heart
of a fallen Clown.
T. S. Mapes
copyright 1992 "Je
est un autre?"