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Hoping to Be Human

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moremojo:
How can I remember life's but a play
When embittered by sickness or fear?
How do I reach for the spirit
When my body compels me to cling to the flesh?
Why were we meted this time and space
To learn that all is illusion?
We are dust born of ancient suns
Drifting on, searching, grasping
For a place to be still, to know, to dream
That we are blessed.

Daniel:
In the darkness of salted wounds
Inflamed by snickering cruelty,
I still my heart and mind.
In response to wrath-fueled hatred,
I've a thousand little games,
Instead of maturing dark investment.
It's said that ignorance is bliss;
I see it not - for in that solemn
isolation burns perpetual flame of will.
Ignorance envenoms inconstantly.

Edit: If you want me to delete this, Scott, just give the word. I'll give you space for creative meanderings without my assistance.

moremojo:
Daniel, I hear you and welcome you. Did you know...

The first sin was knowledge
From this was born the rest
The Father fashioned his children
Believing innocence was best
But the children, being human,
Were driven by the need
To cultivate the truth
However dark its seed
Exile was their reward
For their overweening pride
Yet they truly sprang to life
Once their ignorance had died.

Daniel:
The Father gave one simple law,
one rule for man to follow,
and yet he grasped for knowledge clear,
he bit, tasted, and swallowed.
He forgot his divine origins,
his spiritual place in a garden of light.
No longer the companion of God,
Man feared to be found by His sight.
Still after all these years,
the command holds true.
It is the only command to be
followed to truly be you.
To embrace your divine inheritance
And join in the glittering dance.

"Touch not the tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil"

After a thousand years, a million?
Who can tell? The darkness still irks man's heart.
He tastes of the fruit and he likes it:
this knowledge of sin, the power of judgment.
How much more important is man now,
with this knowledge firm in his hand?
The problem arises sincerely...
his eyes see not all the land.
He cannot see what God's sight sees,
knows not the inner truths.
He cannot know every reason
or purpose for all that man does.

But still he grasps this knowledge,
holds it to himself tight.
He will not give it up lightly,
and dreams of godly might.
And still the Father waits for us,
aware of all things man is not.
The angel is waiting, its palm outstretched.
Its voice whispering: "Spit it out."

moremojo:
The spirit of Rumi lives on in you, friend.

I see the man before me
Though his back be turned to me
His whorls of golden hair
A treasure offered free
The pinkness of his ears
Blushing carefree promise
His unmet face sends me
Yearning for a kiss
Strength of freckled arm
Reminds me what I lack
I see the universe splayed before me
Upon this one man's back.

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