I never understood the real meaning behind poetry and philosophy.

The former takes great meaning and condenses it by duration reduction; Compacting enormous information and emotion in just a few beautiful words.

The latter is the priors direct opposite, opposing condensation for elaboration to the grandest questions a mortal being could ask. It's defined as a love of wisdom but really it's just the wisdom we love.

Both portend to be a front of art and an artistic mind.

So it makes you question these opposites and the balance they bring?

If combined "what is the product" of poetry and philosophy?

I'll tell you,
It's Prophecy

Frozen,
Close to absolute zero
In a state of near preservation
Do our atoms collide
Breaching the comatose exclusivity
Of each electron as it slowly orbits the nucleus.
In this way we can simplify the quantum
To a near exact state of uncertainty
Which Heisenberg predicted
Even as cold as our atoms have become
Their exact speed
Or their exact location
Continues to remain a mystery
As neither can be known plural
Only singular to the extent
That the realm of the smallest of particles
Is dependent on the temperature
Within the heart of a proton

In a city filled to the brim
With confident philosophers
One was known to be the wisest of them all
A fact told by prophecy
You see
He walked the streets, engaging in harmless debate
In an attempt to sate their accusation with the burden of proof
So to the artists he went
Questioning the beauty and nature of their work
But try as he might, the one did not feel wise at all
Instead by comparison he found himself rather ignorant to those finer things
Then to the preacher he went
To test his mettle with the gods
And to his surprise he was yet again reprimanded
For only partially grasping the truth
Of divine fervor
Finally,
The one made one more stop
At the political heart of his great nation
So that he could engage in the rhetorical fallacy
Of power for rights sake
When alas he again fell short
Not quite stacking up to the ease of lying
Through a falsely painted facade
Giving up he then sought out the last prophet
An oracle of youth,
Beauty,
And chast
He asked
"Dear young one, the people of my city make a bold claim"
He uttered
"Claiming I am the wisest of all men alive and all those dead"
"How can that be when the knowledge I possess is an insufficiency?"
When slowly the lithe creature arose from the depths
A string of smoky whisps
Encapsulating her tiny form
Seemingly to speak from an abyss in reply
"Socrates, you are the wisest of them all"
Confused, the one was taken aback
How could that be true when apparent knowledge lacked?
"Sweet oracle,"
The philosopher did say
"If what you say is true
Then surely you must have a way
Of explaining..."
In stark retort, the smoking creature snapped
"You dare challenge the will of the Gods?!
"No," he replied coming to the conclusion
"If what you say is true and I am a king above all men
It must be thought
That if I am indeed wise,
As you claim,
It is because I know that I'm not"

"Scio me nescire"

Ashes of the Wake
==================================
I would like to tell you a story
Of a young man born with a power
To channel the sun

His name was Regan Noel
And he was born in the light
His destiny written prehumously

Foretold to end the destruction
And oppression
Of a tyranny called The Wake

Yet his ability was beyond control
He hurt those closest to him by proximity
Causing the prophets to denounce him

Fortunately for Regan
There was a saving grace
A solution to his madness

A drug or drink
Dulled his ability
Allowing him to think

As the war raged on
His vision cleared
He'd do anything to be a hero

So he stepped onto the field
To face The Wake
And free his people

In a blinding flash
His presence was known
Replacing evil with beauty

As the glare receded
Regan stood alone
His destiny complete

Later he announced
To his people
Theres only ashes of The Wake
===================================
Waking The Fallen
===================================
This is a continuation
For the story of the sun born
Regan Noel

For after his victory
That left only ashes
A new Wake formed

Sour from defeat
Craving to regain control
Of slaves recently free

They ambushed our hero
Then threw him in a cell
Blocked from his light

He felt powerless
For the first time
But he was not alone

Chained next to him
Was a wizard of dark ability
Named Nicklaus McCanter

Like Regan
His power was foretold
Deriving magic from the moon

"We must do something"
Nicklaus pled
"Rather than sit here virtually dead"

So together they formed a plan
A way of escaping
The ties that bound them

Absent power
They used their minds
Tricking the turnkey to set them loose

Once free
The new brothers set a course
For vengeance against oppression

In tandem they lay waste
To a fallen army risen
From the ashes of The Wake
===================================
Fall of The Wake
===================================
This is the conclusion
To a far away trilogy
Of magic and revolution

You see
The Wake could not contain the sun
But it could control the moon

So it sought to separate the two,
Regan and Nicklaus
In an attempt to disrupt balance

They turned the moon to the dark
Alienating the light
Of brotherhood

Pitting friend against friend
In a battle to the death
Poised to retake control of the aftermath

"Look into the light Nicklaus!"
Regan implored
Yet only hate looked back

"What have they done to you?!"
The hero begged
Not wanting to hurt his partner

"They awakened me!"
Nicklaus screamed
As black ink consumed his flesh

Knowing the battle was at a ******
He had no choice
So Regan summoned his voice

Like a white hot bar of iron
He flashed an image to his companion
A last ditch please for reason

In that instant time was frozen
Two men forged by prophecy
To restore balance

As blinding radiance met absent black
The opposing forces
Canceled out

Restoring sight to Nicklaus
Long enough for a noble sacrifice
That can be seen at night

'For he was a hero too
Giving his life for destiny
By destroying the moon
...

So everytime the moon is new
Just remember it symbolizes
The fall of The Wake

"There's no point in building sandcastles"
The old man said
As he gestured to the shore
"You see, they're too fragile
And aren't very durable
Unlike me they cant handle the years
Or even days
Against the crashing of the waves
The beating of the rain
Or the sting of the wind"
The wizened fellow was trembling
His hands shaking as if under some immense weight
"You wonder why I shake do you?"
He said, following my eyes
"I shake from experience
And rightly so
Because I learned a truth long ago;
I'm an earthquake
That no sandcastle can withstand"

This tourniquet tightens
Like quicksand
In a sunscorthed wasteland
As the sun bakes the parched land
To such an inhospitable temperature
I can no longer breathe
When the pressure of coping
Strangulates me with decisions
Of love and loss
Lost within the deadly current
That is introspection
And inspiration
Which coexist
In a binary partnership
Between life and death
...
Until my last gasp
...
The hanging bell tolls

I'm a mountain man
Far from my range
Surrounded by seemingly endless
Flat plains of sugar sand beaches
Here I am alone
So out of place
While all the waves keep crashing
Reminding me of a Blue Ridge song
Calling my soul farther north
To a place where my hearts match
Is beating along
To the melody
Of high winds
And granite peaks
So I sit knowingly
Appraising the horizon
As I miss my home
In Tennessee Rising