Even though the sun is shining bright,
men are asleep, but think they are awake.
This can't be taught in terms of black and white,
but can be seen, when shock occurs to break
complacency's dull funk. A deeper plane
of Being stays unknown to lazy souls,
as well to those, self-satisfied to reign
as Ego's clown, engulfed in paltry goals.
A metaphor is all that we can use
to illustrate the cosmic likes of that,
which can't be seen with eyes. Words are obtuse
and crude, as tools to wage a fluid chat
between high spheres, and those recently from trees.
Wild energies that bend the minds far reach,
rush parallel, beyond vague bounderies
that unlearned brains will never grasp, nor breech.
Dante gave us shades of technicolor Hell.
An afterlife of loud demonic wrath,
pales against when Loving says farewell,
or when one's lost the paradisial path.