Why you staring at my finger when I'm pointing at the moon?

james-wisp Poems

This life, although startling in its brilliance, remains confined to the electrical shadows cast on the walls of our brains. Do you ever feel… no, no, no not feel. Well maybe feel... or sense… that everlasting something sometimes off in the distance I can see… I’d love to take my hands and, like the meaty instruments they are, dance sweet symphonies up and down your body. Your mysterious mountains I wish to see closer to land my ***** machine among majestic silver seas and strange beautiful grass of green. I would use my subtle touch to say what I couldn’t any other way and drag you down to the depths. But things are not so simple in life as in our thoughts, nor so rough as our poor idiotic language. *Every hand, give me your hand. I’ll talk to you, you wont understand.* These electrical shadows cry at the ultimate, but our mere conception shames it. Like the dream tigers we desperately try to craft they continue to disintegrate like the castles made of sands, rocks piled on rocks reaching for the stars. The firmer the hold, the quicker it slips away. “Just try squeezing the truth from water,” the angels sing to me in my sleep. And it’s the love of dreams which is so greedy for recognition swiftly performed in the sight of all. And it’s the waves I feel… well maybe not feel. And I wanna say **** you” because I still love you. I sense… well maybe not sense… And I feel my soul being slit up as if by a razor. frenzied but beautiful and an awful ambiguity grinning over it all, cackling out the Tao’s opening words, lukewarm to the point of being enigmatic, “The truth that can be told, that is no eternal truth.” I guess after the laughter, then comes the tears. **** you, Lao Tzu and your ****** ancient wisdom. Why you staring at my finger when I’m pointing at the moon? I got nothing at all. The center, unapproachable forever. You’re willing to die you coward but not to live. Love life more than the meaning of it.