I’ll type until my laptop dies
I’ll write until my pen is dry
Scribble till my pencil breaks
Transcribe thoughts till concepts take.
I’ll wait until your sunset’s bent
and wagers wages to the moon’s intent
to fail to show him up at night –
in spite of prepackaged divine sight
He’s convinced of how he’s right and now
he’ll take all the faith that you’ll allow
to prove his point to the lunar kind –
that body’s warmth tops that of mind.
Try and resist, no, I insist –
Clamp onto that fake and sugary bliss
and watch your sun lose his own game
retreating down in futile shame.
And it’s stupid for the both of you
to deny what you two have worked through
Cause if you had paid the mental fee
to learn “Thought A spawns B and C,”
You’d see your faith’s not the sun’s to control
it’s attached to yourself (courtesy of the soul) –
It can’t be won and it can’t be given
no matter what mess you find yourself in.
I hope that you keep this close to your heart:
The whole of yourself’s worth more than your parts
summed up and held in a permanent stasis
if it was, self-realization’d be essentially baseless.
The sun and moon can work together
provided your mental foundation can weather
the daily transition between instinct and logic
feel it – I did – and I never forgot it.