Finally Poem by Rod M.Peters

Mind… the creator,
Mind… the Sorcerer's Apprentice.

Finally it's all become clear.
They laid my harried body in a flowery grave,
The long sleep ensuing,
Then to wake in a wondrous edifice
Of impossible architecture
(Spires and turrets tapering the wrong way,
Ascending steps leading to dungeons,
Downward sloping ramps to sky vistas)
To be reminded, every day of my life
Of Rumi's lucid verse:
‘Humanity is the origin of the world'.
Always did I credit the age-old axiom
With the inverted premise
As being the truth, but now… perhaps
Man does not spring from the world
But instead the world, reality,
This one reality and all realities
Likely and unlikely, nebulous and distinct,
Personal and collective,
Angelical and demonic,
Spring from man.
Yes, it's all become clear.
The mystic poet said it seven centuries ago,
But I've no one to share
My realization with.
I thought nothing of spending my life in fascination
Of the material achievements of civilization
Of the myriad mechanical wonders
And all triumphs of the intellect,
Very often shunning the company of those
Desiring a comforting word,
Or that precious modicum
Of idle conversation to rebuff the
Persistent ghost of loneliness
Ever haunting dejected lives.
Now I wander through lavish halls
Adorned with stunning frescoes
Admiring the infinite display of clever
Mechanical contraptions in perpetual motion,
The intricate clockwork of polished brass
Clicking to perfection,
Fanciful models of solar systems
With orbiting planets and tiny moons,
Miniature cogwheels turning in unison,
Levers tweaking, pendulums swaying,
Silver balls rolling down smart little ramps
Then upwards again by the pull of a chain,
Automata making haunting music,
Mechanical dancers, whirling dervishes,
Clowns, beasts from imaginary forests
Performing impossible feats of athletic prowess,
My amazement only increasing as I walk
From room to room in this wondrous edifice,
A seemingly endless succession of vast halls
With precious amethyst flooring
And carved-wood ceilings,
And all those people entranced
Staring, eyes wide open
With the fascination of little children
Completely oblivious to my attempts
To share my wonderment with them.

Mind… the creator,
Mind… the Sorcerer's Apprentice.

I walk aimlessly tugging at other people's sleeves
Longing for a faint glint of recognition in their eyes,
For the warm touch of a hand,
For a friendly word,
But everyone is lost in their own enthrallment,
Spellbound in contemplation
Of this ocean of clever toys.
Here all the wonders of the world
For the delight of the intellect…
But where, oh where, a hint of a smile?
Where, oh where, is there love here?