We come to school and learn what we don’t know
Cahlil Gibran’s same door as in I went for ever more.
Shakespeare said, we are such stuff as dreams are made on – of?
Nightmares or inspiration? He deepens my mystification.
We are made in the image of the Heavenly Father
Who is spirit invisible, mystical, ethereal, inspiration.
God likens Himself to an earthly father – this father of love and life
Now love mystifies me most. Isn’t mother love the symbol
Of caring. It was Totius who likened mother love as depicted.
Well, “die oue put”, dripping tears of anxiety providing water
Eternally – “dit gee maar immer”
Isn’t mother love rather that litera many splendoured thing?
Mary, mother of God…. Mary Stopes clinic? Empty hearts
And bodies leaving the rotting goo gratefully behind with glee
Their little lives not rounded – never woken from the sleep?
Is “making love” not “ making hate”? Sowing the seeds
Of inconvenience and death? The seeds of death so small that
Even a microscope cannot detect them and yet they reveal
A world in which the virus needs a home – a human cell
Worlds within worlds which we can never see.
Our little lives are rounded with a sleep Shakespeare,
Are we ever really fully awake? There are more things on
Earth under Heaven than are dreamed of in our philosophy.
Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I used to wonder
Disillusionment: a churning, burning, unbearably hot mass of fiery gases!
The moon? Diana, chaste, cool oh so romantic! Oh, no!
A heartless rock: dry, barren arid! Have a heart!
Not Washkansky’s bloody lifeless organ!
Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I used to ponder
A sun a solar system, a galaxy or two or three or three-trillion
The milky way? Infinity, the great black nothing from which
We wake from the eternal sleep to God’s mirror into which
Humans stare always, until the final real awakening.
(c) HCMeintjes
Cahlil Gibran’s same door as in I went for ever more.
Shakespeare said, we are such stuff as dreams are made on – of?
Nightmares or inspiration? He deepens my mystification.
We are made in the image of the Heavenly Father
Who is spirit invisible, mystical, ethereal, inspiration.
God likens Himself to an earthly father – this father of love and life
Now love mystifies me most. Isn’t mother love the symbol
Of caring. It was Totius who likened mother love as depicted.
Well, “die oue put”, dripping tears of anxiety providing water
Eternally – “dit gee maar immer”
Isn’t mother love rather that litera many splendoured thing?
Mary, mother of God…. Mary Stopes clinic? Empty hearts
And bodies leaving the rotting goo gratefully behind with glee
Their little lives not rounded – never woken from the sleep?
Is “making love” not “ making hate”? Sowing the seeds
Of inconvenience and death? The seeds of death so small that
Even a microscope cannot detect them and yet they reveal
A world in which the virus needs a home – a human cell
Worlds within worlds which we can never see.
Our little lives are rounded with a sleep Shakespeare,
Are we ever really fully awake? There are more things on
Earth under Heaven than are dreamed of in our philosophy.
Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I used to wonder
Disillusionment: a churning, burning, unbearably hot mass of fiery gases!
The moon? Diana, chaste, cool oh so romantic! Oh, no!
A heartless rock: dry, barren arid! Have a heart!
Not Washkansky’s bloody lifeless organ!
Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I used to ponder
A sun a solar system, a galaxy or two or three or three-trillion
The milky way? Infinity, the great black nothing from which
We wake from the eternal sleep to God’s mirror into which
Humans stare always, until the final real awakening.
(c) HCMeintjes
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