We are the Ocean
We are the Ocean.
When you step into us, we accommodate.
We ripple and vortex
in Adonai's cortex
emblazoning memories
of how to get Home.
And yet what are we,
What are we without memories?
What are we without
Intelligence struggling onto our shores
From our deathly dark depths,
Without deLuxe biological
Cosmic star spores and
the Children Who Weep each evening to sleep
as their bellies boil within them?
(shall the meek not inherit the Earth?)
christ those meek little bellies...
We can but feed them poisonous tinctures.
this is the stillness of our Waters,
that we eat small children and let God ponder,
though God is an abomination.
the least we can do for the beloved Christ
is recount Their Heroics and
act really stoic
and act like we've owned It --
O we've paid the price;
for a child who suffers
10 Years
Knows the fodder
we've taken the tenure
to love
Our whole life;
and sick as it's seeming
we're carefully scheming
to unleash a
Remember-Forever-Device!
If we need the Soul salient,
Then It will be Good.
If we need halls of Mirrors,
Then It will be Good.
If we need a Grand Orgy,
Then It will be Good.
And if we need to do Laundry,
Then It will be Good.
But is this all we are?
Why do we touch Ourself like this,
seamlessly teeming
however you're leaning
in endless dream-weaving
at the edge of the Earth?
Who but we can have these dreams?
At Once they are gravity
that attract to the Highest
like knots in the nooses
that silence the pious;
but they're also the sky
where the stars pass you by
to mingle the twinkle
with your black inner eye
so that you can discover
the Story in sighs
of Remember, Remember,
How life passes by;
Remember, Remember,
You go Home when you die.