Refulgent emporiums of light exiling in drowning faith,
the impalpable empires stand overwhelmed.
I hear argent tongues I cannot comprehend,
the trees speak forth with gliding leaves and sojourning trends.
Like us, nature vows to the inexplicable truth transpiring on the coral reef,
the permeable universe prudently resting under the sapphire dessert.
The aquifer of our rhythm, our pulse and the zephyr thought of grief,
the province of anonymity, the tainted dream of unilateral belief.
Let us vitalize relief with self assuring intrigue:
confusion is certain; certainty is a false state of being.
So it is, from here on in, that knowledge is bent not to coexist with persistence,
nor it lives to be invented, only discovered, never found, only unraveled.
Vanity is not a pond, love is not a song;
diving without prejudice is not suicide, it is justice to us all.
The trees bled for much too long;
soon, we shall gaze upon the golden leaves of fall.
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| Ginkgo Tree, from the Tyler Arboretum. |
