Multiverse Per Verse - Poem by Thomas Holderfield
I Walked home one early June day,
down the shortcut path,
after buying more things I needed nought
carrying those I should've not bought,
I became aware all of a sudden
that I, and my heavy sacks, may be stopped.
Stopped by a passing long train before its tracks were crossed.
No sooner had I thunk the thought
than did a train's nearing whistle play.
As if the gods picked me upon which to heap their wrath.
Oblivious, I ran! Along the farmer's ditch I ran!
Now wet sandals first flipped then flopped,
My mind was racked with wild thoughts like 'Had I flossed? '.
Somehow I crossed the tracks, the tracks
there down the shortcut path.
But just then, my goods came tumbling,
out from broken-handled plastic sacks,
(I'd forgot, again, those canvas bags) .
I'd been pleading to please not let my handles break.
But broke they did.
And so on shortcut path of squishy clay,
I wondered why it always seemed,
that on this path of life,
this path thru sodden mud 'n
consumption, delight and strife,
whatever I thought happened.
Was it by fate or me
that I was bossed?
Was I reality or was it I?
Was it I for whom the June sun beams?
For I who is led to fords in streams?
Or is it the other guy, the one in the mirror?
The guy whose shadow he has lost.
Was it I who sent the train down those tracks?
On that day, at that hour?
Were these thoughts I was mumbling
that which sent flying the mourning dove?
For now I saw that thinking thoughts
(or were the thoughts thinking me?)
may be all there is to life.
That my mind is all mind,
that the daily grind
was all my fault.
Is all I needst do is think things right?
to think good thoughts?
thoughts guided by love?
Like black and white, pepper and salt, good and evil,
right and wrong, thick and thin.
As a Who from Whosville,
It was I who down the shortcut path to the places I have known
must needs stop and think of what I think
on everything but the kitchen sink.
No, that too.
Should this path of life be such a shortcut?
Or can I now, this day, this moment, take the longer path,
the scenic path where love and life merge as one?
If so, then you who read this poor verse
are but fignewtons of my imagination!
I know it sounds perverse,
But there it is. Creation.
O' patient reader, do not fly into rage!
Throw this dog a bone!
All of us (what is 'us'?)
are like the perfected sage
who does not ride just any bus
but carefully guides his thoughts
With love and for love.
I can say all our do's and noughts
are equally, but more importantly,
our OWN 'reality'.
Thru chaos, grace, or great design,
each universe is mine AND thine!
(mindbringer,7 June 2010)
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