Man’s Predicament

Perhaps you can help me
you see, I find myself taking
upon my human shoulders the yoke
of mankind’s most noble struggle
one of my biggest sins and also
my greatest strengths is
my narcissistic and eternal
quest for knowledge.
literature, philosophy, history,
science, law, theology, even math
(when I absolutely must)
and the more I learn, the more
I realize how little I know
how can this be fair?
Justice, her bow in hand
but with an empty quiver,
stands before me: an
alternative deity of harmony
when I try to speak, to defend
myself and my actions,  I am
quite surprised to find my own
two hands covering my mouth.
Oh, that you would hear me!
escape your sedentary lifestyle,
be free of the shackles that
you have forged for yourself
and live a life of glorious mistakes.
to teach, I have come to understand,
is to educate and not to school.
even beyond my man-made constructs
of poetry and classic literature
there is, indeed, truth out in the
beautiful world of ours.
We share it. We breathe it.
We invite it into our homes.
We ignore it on freeway offramps.
We cover it up with sacred words.
We scribble it onto napkins.
We play it upon our hearts and minds,
and on strings and through metal
until it rings clear and bright
like the first sunrise ever recorded;
it will be marvelous, now and forever.

MSBQ

Truth In Aesthetics

One marble column,
Ponderous and smooth
The Artist stands on the threshold
Calloused fingers graze the sides
His eyes reflecting nothing but the
Cold grey and white monolith
No form permeates the marble
Inside the Artist’s eyes, much
To his amateur dismay. He could
Almost hear his professor’s words:
“Only the truth can create the truth.”

A thousand years of art flashes
Before his mind’s eye, cutting his
Feeble perception down to
The golden ratio of thought-
Two thirds reflection, one third concept.
For hours he sat, examining each inch
Of the mineral wall for some hidden
Potential artistic energy
But to no avail.

Art was not a thing to be created;
It lie only truly in nature, and some
Would argue not even there.
His enthusiasm fizzling, the Artist
Throws his hammer and chisel
Out the paned window; down, down
Into the ruddy streets below him.
Tiny shards of sky blue glass lay
Scattered around the floor,
The light of the setting sun cast
An imposing shadow upon the
Hardened marble block.
Maybe nature, after all,
Holds the key.

MSBQ