Monday, October 10, 2011

Are we really?

Are we merely mechanics,
Over what?


Are we groaning
And alas dashed to nothing

Forgoing facts
Yet sure in our observation
Renouncing faith
Yet fully embracing our despair

We are so so sure there is nothing.

Are we mere scientists to see our thesis and conclusion,
To create our net-like theories and statistics
We have made our bed
But nobody is in a hurry to lie in it.
No instead is a groan of despair
For we are now reduced to being observers
We are passive and sure
While we once hailed the death of certainty
We have made our bed
And we are lying in it in death.

We have hailed the end of systems
We have hurled reason into chaos
Given voice to mad men
And are sure of our futile cycle.

Once we were called to dream.

To see as though from above, to see the world
in all its complexities below, a bustling city of queer patterns
and predicable anomalies.

Or overwhelmed with the passion of the experience. 
Standing in the center of it all and seeing into the deeper recesses.  Gloriously.

In awe or blissful experience we once stood.
But in front of the pattern now we stand,
as children after the fair—
or watching puppet show
 from the wrong side of the stage. 
Our worse fears have come true. 
The paint is not as bright,
the lights only shine on the outside,
and the set is all too flat and grim.

 Our pinnacle of philosophy is merely to “understand” the system.  The ridiculous revel in knowing what’s wrong; because, so much is wrong.

But what mechanic only knows the problem?
A philosopher is now nothing but a blinking, whining, repetitive, oil light.

We are crying out like a child who fully believes,
he fully knows,
that everything is wrong.

Philosophy died not when she crucified reason, or proclaimed even God was dead,
She was no more when she decided, that nothing could ever be said.

1 comment:

  1. That was absolutely amazing! Loved it. There are a few lines you might want to consider editing like "While we once hailed the death of certainty
    We have made our bed
    And we are lying in it in death."

    You use the word death twice and the word bed just before this. In someways that is good bc I didn't really get what you meant by bed until you used it the second time. However, Synonyms are a great tool. It sounds a little redundant to use two words twice in a poem.

    But it was ABSOLUTELY amazing. I really enjoyed it.