a lament of the Inspired
In the unsilence of my containment
that which limits me to airy perceptions and blind guesses
rather than what is
I reflect (as a silver-skinned puddle would)
on the unvarying truth that I desire much
but deserve little.
As the earth spins
its unbreakable threads of voided time,
immune to the tampering of Fates malicious claws,
I exist in restriction,
weighed down endlessly by ignorance,
ignorance and error.
I inwardly respire
For one revolution of Times wheel
I defy restriction.
I sense nothing overwhelmed,
blinded by the brilliance of the Unbounded.
For one knot in the ethereal thread,
a single forgotten thought in times vast consciousness,
I reach: bodiless, mindless, soulless, and
in a brief, elusive dream,
I grasp the universe.
In the rebirth of my confinement
the mysterious double helix to which I owe fully
my unrefined and primitive existence
I struggle vainly to capture (a