What Makes and Does?

What Makes and Does?

Do you suppose beyond our range of sense, things might be going on?
Profitless and mudstuck minds strut proud in blanket denial,
to posture. huff and snort, while secretly praying for dawn.
The cranial coal becomes a jewel, when hammer, chisel and file

are applied through thick and thin, for better or worse, until
death do we part. A marriage of energies, high and low,
create the flow of thoughts and things, as experience we know.
How one reckons and applies what's valuable, determines his skills

to navigate and nourish from, our ceaseless river of Time.
Like some mules, who need an ass-whack, all monkeys need a prod
to mount a worthy quest to hightail up out of the slime,
or else, stall out and petrify, face down in a truthless God.

Worthless suffering and pointless pain define the wrong way.
We learn of sharp, but unseen edges, of which this world is rife.
If consciously, we mark these places where hurtful things stay,
we'll come to see just how and why we're here. To marshall force in Life,

one must apply new tools to stop from doing old things. Unless
things change, we'll always stay the same one dimensional guy.
To fail in this endeavor, means another cycle of stress
to garner focus and resolve to get it right, whereby

vertical scale and sentient order are imposed and stay their place,
most willingly. Thousand mile sojourns start out with just one stride,
and we're tried in affliction's furnace for the sake of Grace.
A magnitude above us, cottons not to human pride

and vain self-love. Any vestige flags the wrath of higher planes,
and darkness re-decends. Change requires effort, just push a fridge!
Inner change requires attention, beyond a cross and nails.
Sincere, sustained and pure, the energies of the Soul are bridge,

however frail, between our rock and the continent within.
Impurities arise of lies we tell ourselves and pass around
to gain a better deal. That which WE choose, can hide a dorsal fin,
with lawyers, heart-thieves and thugs. Reduced and spellbound,

we're soon a puppet drawn by strings, the slave of a damn machine.
For they who yearn to know real Truth, the task that is most dire
is learning how to separate what's God-sparked, from what's Philistine.
Our inward Essence is Divine, Persona is all that we acquire.

In a nut swhell, Persona dies. It's fed by life until its end.
Essence is sewn within humanity, and waits for the Soul
to be free of Persona's ruckus. It's then, we're fit to comprehend
real density of Truth and Meaning. Most people live on cruise control,

content with toys and fashion. Essence belongs to higher planes,
and returns there, hero or zero, I presume. Lost in the wilds of desire
and want, an unholy melding of appetite and Ego, gains
ascendency, and slowly drives one's Essence to expire.