Nothing We Know

I know that I should move on
Forget, fall into faith, drift
On a placid lake of denial
Listening to self-help gurus
Religious maniacs, witches
And witch-doctors, all better
Than calm, rational priests
And rabbis, rich with long
Histories of civilizations,
Empires, known worlds all based
On books full of nonsense,
Impossible, foolish, incredible
Things no child would countenance.
But the real world is surpassingly
Beautiful, a vast treasure
Of real, complex, difficult
Things more wonderful than anything
I could possibly imagine, write,
Paint, sing or otherwise encode
In our poor set of symbols and
Representations, and it is paper
Thin, fragile as sheaves of ash
Rimed in fire, on the verge
OF being blown away by our lies,
Self-serving half truths, blunt
Betrayals of the intricate coil
That brought us into being
And will wither under the weight
Of our collective self-interest.
Wither and not die, wither
And let us slip away, unknotted
At the end of long lifelines
That drift and sway like carefree
Dancers in the shimmering ocean.
What we poisoned with out madness
Will recover; what we blotted out
Is gone, but will be revived
Like dreams in new forms, new
Bodies as lithe and dramatic
As the lost tigers, dead herds,
Snowcapped peaks reduced to rock.
This will not fade away; instead
It will simply, suddenly stop,
As will I, nothing almost fast as
Fading sound, forgotten thoughts,
And its short reflection in a few
Who stopped to read will be gone.
Something follows, but not me,
Not us, not anything we know.

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