That Man

1

To fabricate a self-sustaining means
to gather ever more vertical Light,
would re-make us, from nearly blind machines,
to sniper eyes, who've mastered inner flight.

Intrepid sleuthing outs the oligarchs,
personas use to bully and control.
An octopus with arms of thrashing sharks,
would better slash the gut walls of your soul

than you, to miss uplift from out this swamp.
Eternity, and all it holds is True.
Though life is but a shallow monkey romp,
we strut and pose, as if we had a clue,

that mega forces drove an endless wheel,
to churn out galaxies, eons before
we poked our noses on the scene. What's Real
has no relationship to human lore.

Exactly zero facts, do people hold
as to their genesis. Beliefs aside,
an ethos based on virtue is pure gold,
but doesn't come like treasure on the tide.

The world beyond ones chin has barriers,
that keep all souls from from leisurely pursuit
of loftly goals, as likewise inner fears
and pointless pride, leave people unastute,

and indolent to boot. We're in a fix.
Respect and decency are at a low,
while bogeymen terrorize rubes and hicks,
such that they lust to kill a fictive foe.



to That Man 2