My Beautiful Father's Treasures
“But none of these things move me; nor do I count my life dear
Unto myself, so that I may finish my race with joy....” ~
Panning for gold to gather jewels from the rivers bed flowing
Through the heart of this life aneath its, gravel and mire; murk?!
Not that I may purchase the things of this secular world to possess
Its material mirage yet, to attain the clarity in this centripetal beauty
Arising, from the spirals soot of its offerings amid burnt ashes....
Recycling this montane muse as being strained through its percipients grid
Compelled to be driven through a mazes vague imitations; tombs or treasures
Binding the blind to be cast into a temporals pit of pleasure, at a pawns price!?
Hidden cost within an indecipherable code; torn from pages crafted in deceit....
Running amid a margins marathon that has no finish lines of promise except
Crowns of thorns to wear imbedded in eyes which bleed their nights passing
In black magics blurry visions; from which I arise every morn when I awaken?!
Finding my way unto the crystal waters that I may pan for gold as sifting through
A recycled mythmakers maze of, mystiques strained and muddy mires....
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....“In Search of, `My Beautiful Father's Treasures.'” *
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