Colin Mitchell Williams | + Follow Poet |
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Sacred Ground

Is it to be something if nothing it is can be
The wheeling whirring cogs
In the cluttering clatter of atoms and stars
Whirring their physics into oblivion
Nothing more than the sum of all thier predictable parts
With their explosive destinations of entropy
A cascade failure of  universal proportions
And cold chemical reactions
The final mathematical solutions inevitability

In the scientific frame work of gypsy fortune telling
That dark arrogant stranger of theoretical abstractions
Propounds its dilettante persuasion
It really is the end of everything

Blank implacable jigsaw puzzle of creation
No fractal derivatives intention
Accidental constructions of a leaf
And merely fortuitious energetic geometry
Have no basis in perceivable materiality
Nothing else is conscious 
Only our minds and thoughts perceive
And we cannot give into the weirdness 
Of any spirituality

Let the mystics and the prophets adhere
To those hokum pocus philosophies 

A flower is a flower
A Bee is just a Bee
A clouds is simply a collection of droplets
Water just one single molecule of the sea
A mountain is nothing but rock
And sand is just a beach
Wind is nothing more than the movement of air
 And light a photon a particle wave
All so elementary
Nothing so simple to explain
 Despite all their complexity

And still in all the scientific clap trap
None can clearly explain
How such infinitesimal organization
Works so well with harmony
As if balance were its founding key

How do these miraculous events
Come to be
Try as they might
With laudable agreement
And back-scratching prize winning theory
To contain in particle physics
And inadequate  thermonuclear dynamics
How they themselves and we
Came to consciously be
Walking through a miracle 
On the sacred ground of reality
 
Everything so much more than just the sum
of all its parts

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