The Cogs and the Questions

We are all blind men reading the Bible

Hindered by this grid,

These stalk-barren fields of machinery.

The rampant dark of vacant wisdom cowers over us,

Goes by unnoticed at times

Though I stare into it until my eyes grow

Cold, sore, and full of plight

And my shivers are echoed by the wind blowing against my curtained window

But you see,

I am no better than the next man.

Scratching from surface to surface

Without a means to prescribe the meaning.

So I look to the open sky;

I strap a feeling to a melody and

Wonder ceaselessly of the flight of the birds.

But a man staring at the sky is a mere daydreamer,

An inquisitive man asking what he should live for

Is sometimes hushed into a 9 to 5.

He locks away the fixation with what’s out there,

and he ranks up. 

But all rational minds are insane, so 

Let insanity reign for now. 

So we wait

For the next life,

We sing

For better days.

We wait for the unanswered.

We wait inside flasks and trains and lovers.

But I won’t count on an eternal grand finale in the after-light, son,

I wouldn’t count at all.

Is this satisfaction with not knowing bred?

Engrained into supple doses of “that’s the way it is, little one”

And stocked in shelves of rows and rows of the American Dream? 

We do want the answers,

It is in our nature to justify ourselves. Brain-bred.

But we will wait for a pollination of our sainthood and sins into reason in

The next life, the next day, the next job. 

The questioning may start with a knowing exchange,

A look between two cogs with the same pause from machinery.

So where are you my restless faulty cogs?

We screw ourselves loose with self-willed freedom.

We see others first get that right-path job and then get that raise, and then wonder why it was so important with

Huffs of incredulous pondering through the smoke of cigarettes.

You had the money anyways. 

Too many of us us end up like this.

Well, we think the order is all wrong.

And this hunger will not satiate. 

It will not still or be distilled by preconceived ways to live a life.

The world is a beautiful place and I am no longer afraid to die.

Die, die, die

Live, live, live

You rational mind is insane

So dabble and drawl it out, son. 

Don’t let them dull you away 

To read the Bible you must have sight

To examine the world you live in you must

Know you are hindered by this grid,

Surrounded by stalk-barren fields of machinery.

And from here your sepia-toned world will

Be shaded in with worthwhile truths,

Colored with a reason to live. 

Not a reason to die and be saved.

So all I ask of you, son,

Is to reject what you’ve been sold in the midst of a world gone mad with ritual.

Tear out the blind sutures that have “mended” over your questions -

Sabotage the wait.

Question everything.

See above all son, I have created my own creed.

Above all, son, I think for myself.