19:42 Feb 22 2018
Times Read: 241
The Sun Reborn
Ideas built on ideas,
What thoughts could come?
On cycles of life of love and the sun,
Repackaging ideas,
Do we still hear echoes?
For if only one idea is true then all shall crumble,
When staring each day at the beautiful land,
Where heroes were born and common men stand,
What novelty of life is put into view?
Like an amalgam of cultures into a modern stew,
Then why did we forget the rebirth is every day?
The most powerful feature revolves and stays,
And though motifs change,
And people move and breed in strange,
How can life not be seen from pockets of the deranged,
For the sky always gave sorrow and bounty,
The weather your friend,
Or the doom bringer of end,
Or the fiend stealing your plenty,
Or the gentle touch to many,
Then of course the parallels of chaos and order,
Come straight from the duality of growth and fodder,
Then who but the person sitting on the hill,
Watching the sky,
With the feeling of healing coming in the rise,
Hearing the ills,
Watching the game of the peoples move for thrills,
Can see what power sits in the minds of humans,
From groups who label themselves into tribal bands,
A place that is the root of our religious borders,
And gave rise to the idea of life in order,
Then hear the primal call in your soul,
Where the push to feel breaks through the dull,
For infinity is found intoxicated looking at snow,
And after kneading and resting the bread rises from dough,
Regrowth as you lay in the grass it pulls,
Where allegories heed the new conversion 2.0,
Then I am but a product of eons in motion,
Where I sleep others have lived like the ocean,
Where layer upon layer builds to crescendo,
What am I but a piece in an epic puzzle?
Where we are but moments in the idea of forever,
Then I am note in a song heard never,
Like a rift in dimension I break through into a babies cry,
And as the rattle escapes me I am crushed back inside,
Like a feeling of coming like a wave on the tides,
Then from the moon I feel like a vessel on the ride,
Nature is calling to receive back the information,
Like a mad scientist playing out billions of experiments,
Then I am man,
A breath of power on top of the land,
May I never forget from where I stand,
And may the power which ripples course through my hands,
But then a caretaker I must be to hear to old clans,
And a preserver of the ideas that good must be our stand,
Not from an idea of idealistic banter,
But to make lives of all things whole and with matter,
Then we can brag as we like to do,
And say we are the ingredient tying together the stew,
For all the sins of one culture may be the blessings of another,
All the truths in one house are lies to the other,
Then the bigger realities of life come from looking out,
As above so below rings through in a shout,
But to a tune that can be heard from all angles in route,
And know that all basis is brought from the wild,
That’s the seeking of what became the inner child,
Let the allegories be of a truth from one another,
Let the feelings of future come from caring for our mother,
And take the best to play the culture of modern,
Like a beautiful poem written from cultural pattern,
Break free from the ideas of fixed ideals,
Give way to the cares of individual tears,
Let all speak and truth like a ship will steer,
Even if you don’t like what you hear,
And hear voices from the pattern that give hope,
Not a single player but a group of notes,
Then life is a game of both rising and falling,
Like the pattern of the sun,
Which might be the message of our ancestors in total when time seems just a sum…
Sean Stutzman
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