Mouthpieces

by

Frank Valentyn

How I pity those that speak of god
as though they understand her
prate sciolistically about the divine
in complete and excellent knowledge
thrusting their urgent limitations
on all they would mould
to inherited templates
of own truncated receptivity

Dilution of essence
their branding tattoo
noisome fanfares of diminution
personally appointed mouthpieces
on self-erected altars, in self-adulation
mis-phasing the pure
filtering the absolute in misconfraction
through uninspected apothegms

Diapered in chafing, infantile spirituality
untenderly invoking bleating revocations
of their incipient regurgitation of the un-divine
staining selves in own misunderstood innocence
blind to self-bequeathed opacities of purpose
suckling still, would feed their far horizons
with unrestrained prosyletism
admiring of small curds within the unseen infinite

Verily, I would not say unto them
see not intrinsic deity in babe’s eyes
the connate divine in all base and ordinary
the common in the illimitable and boundless union
hear not extended tone of natural godliness in supernatural
feel not ingenuous interpenetration of self and tiniest flower
know not self in other and in that other shine as self
aim not, align not highest within, it enacts already, gentle in its patience

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Chopin's Butterfly Symphony
by: Hay Machine
from: Dublin, Ireland

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