Poetry followed by philosophy
read on the back porch
as the birds squawk
and the hawks attack
just as it has always been
Perceptions on the surface
may seem temporary and tangible
as they change and shift
with the turning of the seasons
but at the core
all is still
all is silent
all is one
which is to say
all is nothing and everything and neither
I was twenty years old
laying on the couch in the dark
I took a breath
and am thirty-eight
the same book in my hands
the same old story
under the sun
under the clouds
Where did the time go?
Vanished in the space between
there to here, then to now
it was all one point
which is to say
there was no point
except the points
I don’t recall
I’ve forgotten more
than I ever learned
if that’s possible
everything is possible
nothing is possible
every stone has been looked under
every stone remains untouched
or maybe I
just never learned
how to learn
what needed to be learned
to understand the point
that there is no point
I was ten years old
lying in bed in the dark
staring at the void within
terrified of the empty space
I took a breath
and am thirty-eight
there was never a void
there is only a void
The birds know
what the bees know
what the heart knows
what I have never known
what I have always known
that I will never know
that I will never learn
the same book in my hands
the same as it has always been