Canto III
Purgatory
c. 2019, Olan L. Smith
Indeed; write, bards of life, or can you, without dying?
Die to who you were to convey what you're supposed
To be. Put your foot in the grave to remember a life
Expunged! Or should we write of lives deleted? Recollect
The first things with memories of what comes next.
It is not your fault; this world is backwards, where left is right.
When you stood in the field of corn, alone, with no thought
Except I am, the thought of I am was with you,
But the argument of who are they was not on your tongue.
Slowly, your vision widened, and your memories restored; yet
No one can restore the world. You cannot reverse the
River of time, and say to it, "Flow backwards." What is done is
Done. Before you, was nothingness, and a narrow vision. Justice
Moves to the will of the ones who hold the battleaxe. If you watch
Things descend down the vortex; don't dive in thinking you can stop
It. Who knows what is on the other side of the whirlpool. Perhaps,
There is only emptiness waiting to be filled, or it is a world fighting
The flood. What you see is only an illusion deluding itself. You were
Better off before you remembered. I see colors, but none are real.
I cannot touch green or taste green. Green, an illusion of a reflection
Reflected from a white sun's waves, an orb of fire in the void that amplifies
Nothingness, and gives use the illusion of hues scattered. Give
Me the illusion of taste; give the illusion of reality that I might think
An illusionary thought; he who has wisdom knows these things.
In the beginning; it is told God created the universe out of nothing, let
ŞİMDİ OKUDUĞUN
Poets of Life
ŞiirThis is a epic poem broken up into cantos and cover the inner voice of my poetic mind. The cover photo belongs to the author, Olan L. Smith, and all copyrights apply.
