Philip Oliver Sopher,
The name rings of something.
It conjures an image bronzed,
An object with flare, perhaps?
Solid, vibrating, compressing.
A heavy subject.
Experienced, exploratory, explaining?
The ways of the world in person.
How, when and which as tri-stars.
More unholy Trinity’s.
Reasons to be yet understood, unseperate.
Mere constituents of the live dimension.
Morphology oddly landscaped by
The prosecution and procession of the moment.
Time and Life being singular
Are locked at the horns.
We are therefore left with a simple single gesture,
A right angled shudder towards the windowsill
From which we look across the moat of time,
It is our last attempt to see above ourselves.
If we are twisters of fate, who are failing in our description of the totality of all that is in existence,
Then it falls to us to face the inner truth.
What good is Humankind?
The Why Element and the Particle are illusive
As is the attainment of the Ideal State.
It is good which is love, which holds the inner truth.
Not what good is love?
It may well be that love is the essential particle
Charged with love.
Now that rings a Bell.
(c) 2018 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved.