Jonathan ROBIN

Freshman - 581 Points (22 September / London)

Search - Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Is search for self through mirrored minds reflection vain on insight lost?
Concentrating on base 'skills' mankind may find intuitions atrophy: the cost
is greater than he thinks.

Mankind must reconsider, redefine, reference frames in use today,
anticipating changes in design as chance advance refusing vain delay
prepares tomorrow's inks.

Far from madding crowd who can assign true goal, objective rôle to play
sifts chaff from grain, lees drains from wine, pearls palms from swine,
avoiding interplay politic which hoodwinks
masses whose manipulation blind hard upon societal hopes must weigh,
all seem pawns spawned by Fate unkind to play
pale puppet parts in Time's relay game of tiddly-winks.

Learning is a process which reminds of stages, of cocoon to chrysalid,
endlessly repeated till the blinds are drawn, until we're nailed beneath a lid,
and Lethewards must sink.

Yet the restraints of social intercourse are undergoing metamorphosis
that soon must be accepted as divorce nobody may be able to dismiss
between who sips, who drinks deep knowledge fountain's sprays,
revitalizing systematic search, source links.

Contemporary magic spells a blaze accentuates man's changing course.
World, once wild, shrinks. Uncomfortable to integrate are ways
concepts evolve, discarding tenets thought inviolate, the stays
and props a passing age employed to bind itself to its own stinks.

When man, ape, separated, fields of force
lost ground to sleight of hand from day to day,
although the former stayed as last recourse.
As Information Age remodels clay we're on a cusp of other ways to play
life's game beyond strife past, exploring interplay
between motivations once considered missing links.

Enigmatic character today unknots interpolations, does away
with innocence cocooned, convictions coarse,
invents holistic world, conformity rejects, enjoying kinks.

Rebirth, play's repetition, encore, bis, reflections on reflections' shadows cast,
free berth, from Time's whips, scorpions, will o' wisp can't compensate with carpe diem bliss
when act is over, R.I.P. read, this is lesson learned too late by mortal caste.

Poet's Notes about The Poem

(5 October 2009)

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, July 6, 2013

Poem Edited: Wednesday, July 17, 2013

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