surrounded by the monuments of your own ignorance--
the undoable consequence setting the vectors of
personal movement along channels curling
like a tangle of cord around the penitent feet--
and all resolve to amend useless
amid the intractable wake of progress--
spare the spiritual types your scorn--
they've picked the hardest way to go--
some just sitting in their own corrupt monasteries
peering out a bedroom window at holy hallucinations--
while the ones who actively try to live a life
of illumination ask for more troubles than a mere mortal
can bear--and get it in spades...
Content (c) 2008-2011 Philip Milito.
No comments:
Post a Comment