literature

The Endless Present

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Literature Text

This is Sacred Spring;
And whatever our hearts envision
Incarnates as a Rose;
Sanguine is she,
A language stripped of words,
Naked, all-revealing.

Blood-spirit of Spring,
The Rose —bright with dew drops—
Blooms as a revelation;
She generates
The heart’s locomotion, accelerating
Energies of thought and feeling.

When the Endless Present calls from within us,
Like thoughts in twilight sleep, the past disintegrates,
—And the future too— into the merest of trifles.

In an angel-light,
Focused on sacred depths
Eternity looks within me;
And I genuflect to a knee
As one who has discovered a beatific
And timeless question.

Silence purifies
Both the indiscretions of speech
And my paradoxical thoughts,
A transparent glass
Sun-stained with scenes of Genesis,
Uncorrupted by Time.

When the Endless Present calls from within us,
Like thoughts in twilight sleep, the past disintegrates,
—And the future too— into the merest of trifles.
Written by Frank Jaspers 8/23/16.

Poetry can be an expansion and excitement of consciousness. Poems can be meditations. This one, in particular, is a meditation on creativity. It is beautiful only if one understands the symbolism and the meanings. Unless one has journeyed deeply through one's own consciousness, it is difficult to understand and appreciate such works. Nevertheless I find it essential to write such things. 
© 2016 - 2024 Frank-Jaspers
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