But Ourselves

Transpired victories
Of wordless confusion,
To the ends of the earth I cry,
Yet they taunt that nothing
Can be found but four corners,
As though the old myths
Still stand strong today,
And should the world be flat
Then sailing off the edge
Is the last great adventure,
I will take my time,
No longer being defined
By what is known
And held to be
The gospel of man,
But through the unknown
Discover the meaning
Of our brief existence,
Nothing is known
Without the solitude
Of standing alone,
Out from the crowd,
The rabble rouser throw
Their ignorant ‘truths’,
But nothing can harm you
When our light is taken
Further into the darkness
Of our own consciousness,
The wayfarers leave
Their mark throughout
Our history and yet
We shy away, simple truths
Are taken from our being
By those too scared
And greedy,
Freeing only themselves
By enslaving our future,
All for one, no one for all,
We live through our time
And beyond by the combined
Measurement of our species,
Our name is unanimous
With our eternal legacy,
And what is that legacy now?
Murder, genocide, destruction
Of that which we should cherish
And strive to protect,
We stand a harbinger of death
When we have the chance
To be universal caretakers,
Only united do we
Stand the test of time,
Not only with ourselves
But all life that surrounds us,
Divided we blink out
With the closing
Of the universal third eye,
Who are we to last the ages,
But ourselves.

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Poem © Phen Weston

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2 thoughts on “But Ourselves

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