I mourned that we get used to metal birds.
I realized that there was a converse too,
however, in fresh, restless thoughts' strummed words.
Sometimes it's sad because something is true.
All data is an opportunity,
bright gold emerging from thick clouds of blue.
The World Directory's impunity,
though glacially fading, is a bloom.
Deceit and half-truths center unity.
We stride the latest Rust Belt from the loom
of sequence. So austerity is in;
depopulation too. We have the room.
The problem is the energy again.
We'll be bombarded by emergencies.
Not actual ones of course but spun of spin.
The masses see not charts; hear urgencies,
can pick up on the strident something's-up
totalitarian emergencies.
Few have the strength of will to push the cup
of murderous deceit away from them.
Like beasts they bend; and in the grass they sup.
The more men sin, the more their Sun goes down.
The more it dims, they more they believe in lies.
Lies taste delightful to those ruled by whim.
But in the midst of fall I sense the rise
as yet obscured by flailing of the bloom
of interlocking with its big wig lies.
I nonetheless expect a nobler world
beyond such slime, a world which makes more sense.
I sense the destiny towards which we're twirled
by expert aim of loving Providence.
I do not believe that we will steer by stars
just yet. We've subtler ways to jump our fence.
As yet we have not nearly looked within,
met Him to whom we are the terminal
to His computer outside 'where' and 'when'.
His love is bottomless and germinal,
the fructifying of our hearts and minds
by influx flowing in our terminal.
His love it is that through our history winds
the most regenerations and the best.
His love it is that your own mind's eye finds.
His love who tries the hearts and reins is rest
who passes us through fire and water here.
Our love sends tendrils out at His behest.
The present time is ruled by force of fear
and mass hysteria's stoked-on stampedes,
yet the Apostle writes “Love casts out fear” ( 1 John 4:18).
The present time is crumbling but the seeds
of its transcendence, planted in its fall,
will spring up in the mind of one who reads.
The stones cry out and vibrate a brick wall,
till through the crumbling of it shines His Sword.
Arise and walk! We will transcend their fall.
* See Copilot AI's collaboration with one's response to the transcendence reaction of Arnold Toynbee and the 2nd Religiosity of Oswald Spengler in the blog portfolio Without Fees, Exams, or Grades.
