Lo and behold –
Man found a mutant world where hominids reigned and he stayed to cultivate the land and direct the life of man.
He saw the stars upon the heavens and like a child desired for them in passionate want, but when he reached them he discovered the death of fellow man.
In his eagerness – he overstepped those low and trampled upon broken bodies. He shot the offender of his code and threw aside his offal.
Man stole from the weak to gain his goal and dared not look them in the face lest his resistance be broken – the downtrodden arise and usurp him. Sublime convulsions within – rupturing his gut, destroying his entity.
All the while education was despised, for jealous men herded their knowledge – seeing their incorporate senses suppress, the ignorant, them selves indulgent.
And yet young men looked to the stars, from within that bloody gourd of human suffering, objective – without human frailty, where their conscience was the clean first page of new convention.
They were immersed within naive innocence – for distance lends enchantment to the view and ignorance ensued.
Only when true men had suffered for their work and reached their peak – turned to younger yet still soft and weak.
Did eyes so long salt encrusted rip open and cry blood tears. And thus the man whose mind was all neat logarithms – where all geography could be denoted, saw his fellow man in all his story.
To the inner core he saw – for through his eyes he saw his dreams. And through his mouth all Life yet reality streamed.
The spirit of man – now Panther wild, unleashed, passionately freed; excited the observer.
And once dulled senses now cut sharply forward for discovery. Seeing truth revel in the wanderer – the liberated soul who cared not for convention, the observer now crawled out of drunken reverie and eyes of stupor glared in shock.
Dazed amazement struck with awe as another would risk Life before conscience and here the dedication began anew.
Obsession magnificent consumed his being and the stranger looked to all men – finding in them the answer to his questions.
His hot blood ran in violent frenzy as all this abstract surround – once obstruction now clear paths, showed the way unto the Lights.
And he turned and looked upon the people – those whom he could help understand, he would.Yet they could not really know till they too had suffered through this pain.
There were those whom would never know this joy for they could not even begin to understand.
Maybe they were the lucky ones, for they had been spared the agony of despair, the ecstasy within their torment, a moment of revelation.
And yet what Life be it – if it is not forever progress, for repetition is but negation. So the wise do not sit still but be accursed as is The Flying Dutchman – in a never ending search as tangible as is the elusiveness of it’s end.