"provisions" poems - Hello Poetry

# From an ornate podium the orator spoke words-- ..extraordinarily elaborate ones.. as if, as if But those who know.. we who have laid low, down in to the trenches as grunts, both outside and inside of the wire.. Those who have quietly done their legwork.. who have accepted their difficult fate as that borne of and in to, a training.. an equipping; lay low, lay low . . . . The throngs at the foot of the podium-- mesmerized by their own need to be mesmerized, never even noticed the children who in their innocence, peered out from under the crowd's legs to better see the 'magnificent' podium.. The oldest of which, ran back to trenches trying to describe what they saw. Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones made their way back to the podium, and in blocking out the orator's voice, (which to the knowing, was as that of a clanging bell..) Now observed up close, the inner-workings of the elaborate podium and sat in wonder of its expenditures-- wrapped around such slipshod, weak and hastily assembled framework.. And in having become interested in the structure's groundedness to what one would hope would be a solid-built foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground They instead gasped as they saw its legs floating upon nothing.. *"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"* War-trained and battle-hardened, they remembered their superiors speaking in hushed tones that even ****** with all of his blowhard oratorical ******** at least had a semblance of the podium's fastenings.. Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's stupidity within certain provisions brought forth in the Treaty of Versailles, but this but this; This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones this empty illusion of a presentation, borne not from a suffering leading to true regeneration but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms; This counterfeit substance.. as if borne in power, as if.. as if. .. But the realms.. they know It is only those down here on earth, spirit cloaked within the deceptive misgivings of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself apart from the necessary legwork needed to humbly become a part of Stream's flow: (borne, solely from the inner Wellspring-- deep within the bowels of Love's True Ache).. It is here.. on earth.. that you will find the reward you seek.. oh wondrous orator, oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words.. **Your podium, a whitewashed soapbox floating upon nothing..** --And therefore meaning nothing within the Substance-Based parameters of the Realms. #

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Mar 22, 2021

Mar 22, 2021 at 3:48 PM UTC

f-elliott

on love, legwork.. and the humility that leads to getting well..

# From an ornate podium the orator spoke words-- ..extraordinarily elaborate ones.. as if, as if But those who know.. we who have laid low, down in to the trenches as grunts, both outside and inside of the wire.. Those who have quietly done their legwork.. who have accepted their difficult fate as that borne of and in to, a training.. an equipping; lay low, lay low . . . . The throngs at the foot of the podium-- mesmerized by their own need to be mesmerized, never even noticed the children who in their innocence, peered out from under the crowd's legs to better see the 'magnificent' podium.. The oldest of which, ran back to trenches trying to describe what they saw. Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones made their way back to the podium, and in blocking out the orator's voice, (which to the knowing, was as that of a clanging bell..) Now observed up close, the inner-workings of the elaborate podium and sat in wonder of its expenditures-- wrapped around such slipshod, weak and hastily assembled framework.. And in having become interested in the structure's groundedness to what one would hope would be a solid-built foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground They instead gasped as they saw its legs floating upon nothing.. *"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"* War-trained and battle-hardened, they remembered their superiors speaking in hushed tones that even ****** with all of his blowhard oratorical ******** at least had a semblance of the podium's fastenings.. Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's stupidity within certain provisions brought forth in the Treaty of Versailles, but this but this; This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones this empty illusion of a presentation, borne not from a suffering leading to true regeneration but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms; This counterfeit substance.. as if borne in power, as if.. as if. .. But the realms.. they know It is only those down here on earth, spirit cloaked within the deceptive misgivings of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself apart from the necessary legwork needed to humbly become a part of Stream's flow: (borne, solely from the inner Wellspring-- deep within the bowels of Love's True Ache).. It is here.. on earth.. that you will find the reward you seek.. oh wondrous orator, oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words.. **Your podium, a whitewashed soapbox floating upon nothing..** --And therefore meaning nothing within the Substance-Based parameters of the Realms. #