poem

 Pantheon IArt, the guttural human yelp, an attemptTo warble the lyrical language of the godsBut ignorant of words, without access To any syntax of the celestial tongue Without knowing if they differentiateBetween nouns, adjectives or verbs If they recognize any grammatical constraints If, as gods, they even know themselves as “gods”Nevertheless!We have at it with ourNovels and poems, paintings and sculpturesGnawing at deeper divine scriptures Adorable little toddlers babbling nonsenseAbout our very specialdrawingsOur rictal scribblings, our measly tracingsCrying when mommy doesn ' t payit any attention, that fake smile pouty-lipped wide eyed look we know so wellCompels us to reach for the pen,the paintbrush, the lump of claywith a renewed sense of thwarted rageShame is how we get better,some of us so mortified they veercloser to the sublime than othersThat ’s the problem with monotheism—It demands a self-loathing Shakespearean toiling in every corner coffee shopor Rodin with a slab of bronzechiseling away in an overpriced co-op loft How could any of us mere mortalshope to glean the secret metered verseof the One True God?Polytheism is better for depressed anxious mediocrities like uswho sense inscrutable whisperings of ancient agitations deep within and do our best to translatewhat we think we hear  The lesser gods suit me just fine.It isn ’t settling it’sbecoming a little less blind I don...
Source: Buckeye Surgeon - Category: Surgery Authors: Source Type: blogs