Sayings For Sale II

When observing one’s own thoughts,

At certain heights of insight,

One may find some revelations distasteful

And some – the purest of delights.

 

As illusions are exposed

And a little genius reaffirmed.

Although oxymoronic…

Simple truths remain mostly at inaccessible peaks,

And if one goes a step further to attempt interpretation

As a scientist would draw up his theory,

Is he aware of the limitations?

 

A respectable lady once asked a young poet

Why he dares bare his soul in words made public,

And the young man answered:

Because the truth, is, as such – already revealed.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013

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The Becoming

To escape the greatest of illusions

Is more onerous than the attainment of all other freedoms.

In the realm of the mind

Is now accepted the law of betterment;

And this is man’s primary occupation, religion and entertainment …

Hoping to find — often never questioning reason,

Because it has already been given him;

And without it he has no government of action.

So he continues to work…

But had he a drop of wisdom,

He’d do so absent Thought.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013


I of July

”In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

The ultimate symbol…

And if I am the Crab…

Then the very Word I spring from,

That which is with me; the same that is me…

Is the I of July.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013


down the hole

Appearances and remembrances lost in

Black hole obscurity…

Failed physics of a potent chemistry…

The impenetrable metaphor which somehow rings true.

 

It was from the beginning a mystery,

But still I walked in through that door…

You took me in and completed me,

Which was all well and good, except, when we separated,

That is when I realised that if I am already complete I could no longer grow.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013


Sweet 6:15 Still…

All that surrounds me seems well adjusted,

And the harmonious silence of the night stirs up recollections;

Wherein I hear your heartbeat.

The sweetest music, the softest drumbeat.

Remember when I used to rest my head beneath your breast with my ear

Listening to your rhythm?

When all that mattered was us,

When we risked everything;

When it was worth living.

 

Even these winter beaten trees still manage generosity and give me air,
So please give me something so I know you’re still there…

Because although I live, it’s for nothing if not for you…

What’s the purpose of a life of imprisoned passions?

Yet there’s hope of flowering for the tree when the seasons change,

Hope that the stars will once again light up the sky when the clouds clear.

But does that spell hope for us?

 

Every one seems better matched

Because you’re not next to me.

I remember you once said that if it had been me you’d have adopted my name…

Even if distance is in the way; the memories are not faded.

Just preserved…whilst I wait and hope for reunions belated and happier days.

And although the compass that brought me to you,

Is for the time being making sure you remain lost to me,

Somewhere southeast …

Know that I miss you still.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013


Raison d’être

Maybe it’s the seasonable blues of African winter months,

July specifically …

But doubtless, ageing oft prompts the question.

So I start to review my experiences …

Trying to establish cause and effect and ultimately worth.

But in fact, the matter has little to do with experiences

Or the measurable.

Nothing to do with the past at all.

In truth, more to do with the realisation of the futility of such thoughts

And questions.

Much to do with the timeless, which is existence itself.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013