Sins Of An Old Woodstove Poem by Troy Cochran
Sins Of An Old Woodstove
The Mind is just another kind of old woodstove,
Generations of experience growing,
That needs the touch of babies' hands
To know the scream of... cold.
That fits the seams of Nature's iron glove
Like soot, and thinks in pencil.
Thoughts and feelings kindling there speak easily of heat,
And know the scents and shapes of every flame:
Pine, fir, cedar, sage, even crates of applewood;
But great white silences of snow are dreams
An old woodstove could never know
But by the singe and smell of knitted mittens
Reaching in to stoke the same:
And then the dreams of flame swell out in cinnamon,
And the only sin is not to sense and know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/10/2024 3:53:45 AM # 1.0.0.1119
While we come to Earth and perform our duties we face many obstacles. Illusion impacts body and mind. The needs of touch of bodies grow. Nature's iron gloves sketche like a pencil does on paper. The Mind is just another kind of old woodstove. But great white silences of snow are dreams. Sins are acquired by senses due to motivation of illusion. We should try to know and follow wisdom's path. Keeping mind in God we shall walk ahead. We have to gain virtue and not sin. A brilliant perceptional poem is shared here is thoughtful and excellent...10
The concept of 'sin' rarely enters my vocabulary these days. Those pesky little villains seem rather to be but forgivable stupidities in effort of learning. We must get our education some way. And in this endeavor, yes, I would agree that the senses are great limitations, even with corrective lenses and hearing aids. Probably, illusions are never actually burned away in the crucible of human experience, they are just put on perpetual simmer, until our goose is cooked and Death comes round to serve us up for dinner. Wisdom has a tendency to show up late (after-sinner) , but with only just-desserts (women!) , but better late than never. Given enough incarnations, even a mind as troublesome as mine is bound to figure things out right, give or take. In this light, perhaps the greatest virtue of all is hindsight. I want to think that, one day, looking back as far as I can imagine backwards, I will come to see that it was ALL perfect. But could be I am overly romantic, or just looking for the easy way. But you know how it is when you let rhymes lead the argument. We know they all mean well with their circular logic, but God bless 'em they are always finding the long way out. If this makes any sense to you, please explain it to me, because I have gone and confused myself. But thank you for your insightful comments; and, of course, you are pitch perfect and divinely right. :)