Harsh! By all events,
The course that had ruptured through
Hardly was ever so evident in
The eyes of those who lay before it.
An example! How?
For the betrayal of understanding marked
A semblance of tepidity
If only as such
Since the meaning of greatness
Dissolves like salt in a boiling pot.
The product becomes the attention
And the components are lesser for it.
Now we have salted water,
And we see the water
But have forgotten the salt.
Have a taste and be reminded
But only by dipping your tongue into it
The quality is credited.
Now take a man
And see a man
But you don’t see the way
The salts runs from him,
Eager to be tasted and discovered.
Praise the dramatics!
He’s like a fool
Wanting to be discerned
Knowing full well only the surface ripples
And the deeper a well,
The colder its keep,
And so it goes.
So harsh indeed
And there is the trouble in it all—
Why, look no further!
But let a man be brave
And execute himself before the world,
Let his blood be sequestered in cracks of pavement
And when he is all emptied out,
Behold, a miracle will take place.
Watch as he will grow out of his husk
And become something greater than before.
More, more, and so much more.
He has devoted himself to be beyond himself
Or so he has sworn.
If you asked him to be honest,
He’d say sometimes the Sun shines brighter on some days
But on most, hardly any light is emitted
And so he has labored, a mere component,
To be more than the product
And defy all else.
A nonsensical endeavor,
Because whatever could that mean,
But let him labor,
Let him cry out in a cold morning
And find himself liberated
As the words that etch his soul
Become permanent fixtures in a perfect void
Before an empty audience
As he runs amok on a stage,
Panting, “Please divine me!”
Until a bolt of lightning rips through him
And all that is left is a wisp of smoke on scorched teakwood.
There, there,
He'll return, as he always does.
And the scene will morph into something else
As it always does
And the sound of waves toppling a crude sandcastle comes,
Leaving only the scent of salted water in its wake
And the memory of something priceless.
There a hand will emerge from the destruction
And it is he, who will stand before the last sunset,
And with a smile
He'll shed a tear and contemplate
On a wistful tomorrow.
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