Dwelling In Barbaric Times

Atlantis Utopia Paradise

Good place where gentle people dwell
in fearless empathy,
the most distant point from hell,
and finest place on Earth to be.

Grape-lined paths through laden forest,
women bathe in Renoir light,
splashing milk on infant tongues,
immortal passage rules the night.

Compelling sounds in siren songs,
of warm wet furrowed salmon shade.
Walrus of this island home,
flowers open on parade.

Sunrise thunders peaceful wonder,
sparring bucks and princess fawns,
ripe and singing garden colors
frame the ocean of the dawn.

Where way lies this course to Eden?
Who remembers how we came?
'Why' is on the far horizon,
Earth of god with many names.

Star vessels in plain yestersight,
big bang of God's heartbeat light,
where every telecircled eye
sees a trillion ancient swirling ships,
and landlocked sailors wonder if
such points are filled with dreamers.

Still desert grants a quiet space
far removed from desperate crowds,
the hornytoads and rattlesnakes
transport you slowly back in time.

To days of lonely stone age hordes,
bearskin damsels, hunts, and feasts!
I spar with windmill dinosaurs,
we track, and eat, and wear great beasts.

Now marching further into time
through civil lies, past roman sins
elders drunk on bloody wine,
sobered by the son of men.

Mourn the second world wide waste,
peasant fodder, Where was God?
Endless space, too old for me,
what know I of where god should be?

Sunset desert sky of color
fades to speckled blacklit sea,
starry spanning mind of God,
your children's finest view of thee.

Far beyond this milky way,
and Earthly trek through jungle bush,
place where all of light began,
source of soul mind spark in space.

Across this black and starlit wild,
his measure of a civil race,
"What's offered up unto their child?"
God's test of any world or place!

How scores this Earth in spring of time?
Grand streets where starving children play.
Affluent cull with infanticide.
Survivors shaped tradition's way.

Sinking by the burning bow,
bail onto the flames!
Sailing garden universe,
drifting ancient sea of stars.

Smoking ash of forest lungs
bellows into melting skies,
biledump seeps through ocean blood,
burning craters shroud horizons.

All peace evolving weapons smite,
reality a well stage lie,
go silent not unto this night,
forsake atomic fire or die.

With no reasons left to sell,
beyond gold plated politics,
stupidity consigned to hell,
then self-aware Rebirth of Man.

When kinder are the grace again,
five billion years of peace begins,
reign long in man's new garden space,
his wayward sons restored to grace.

Invited solemnly to know,
basking on immortal brink,
center breaching toward the glow of sacred scent and site..
“Receiver of this fountain ride,
surround our living plan to be!”

Young gods abound nearby when we
inhabit hallowed hungry space;
Not them in her, nor those in me,
contestors for god~shells she makes,
new minds that would imbue to be!

Claymatter host contain this life,
fleeting doors to now of Earth,
anticipating conception birth.
Bright cosmic lights you nova near,
slaking deep warm seeds we feel;
Young gods will clamor to be real.

“What place is this? Mid stark chaos I've come to rest.
Pushing south, Barbarians surround me now!
Though weary I must suckle yet,
these soft beloved swollen breasts.”

Meet the games and mammoth contest,
win the crowns for cheering crowds,
steady course good way compassion,
climb aloft, long look around.

Smoke is on the near horizon,
in the wake of man's parade,
north of shade I pause and linger,
resting on incoming waves.

Great aspects of each days endeavor,
graceful facts most plainly told,
lamps on vessels bound forever,
trailing wakes of treading souls.

Rare blessed are they who know great works,
true taste for beauty, scent of good,
with mass and courage boldly tell
of which they love, and why they should.

When line and color wax the eye,
or music fills a silent shell,
careful words that linger on,
escaping time eluding hell.

Great art at last incurs the crowds,
black crows land and critics circle,
too late to save the flesh of soul,
dim and tragic waste of light.

Curiously starving minds
dwelling in barbaric times
go ponder on fine word or phrase,
familiar unsaid average ways,
found in every peasant home,
immortal wits in pulp of stone.

Uncover ancient hidden doors,
hear primal echoes lost in time,
low drum dusty magic scores,
painted words on canvas minds,
living works at last they knew,
just ripe to sing for god and you.

Poets, painters, great composers
sculpting light that will not wane,
vital truth forever shines,
scarless wisdom, common time.

Ancient seed of thunder thought,
in storm of light I think to be.

We cannot dream nor claim to know
how far back time and space must go,
since stars or nothing lie beyond
all distant dust and heavens gone.

Our universe, one grain of sand,
both seas of time that cannot end,
this third dimension race of man,
with last frontier, Godspace of mind!

Intelligence, of all things, must be
distributed most evenly,
since no one ever prays or pines
for more, nor less, than gods assigned.

And only life can hear a tree,
paint a star, or part the sea,
this universe could not so be,
if not for such as you and I.

For all our searching dreams of gods,
by deeds we know their mortal sons,
new seeds of light descending from
grand fathers of great distant suns.