Friday, June 21, 2013

A Letter to Daughter, in seven parts: Part Four



Part Four:

I have taught you our family’s version of prayer as
Peace, Love, We are all interconnected.
This is the quintessence of life.

I hope to see each form of life in our universe for what it came from, is and will be
And find kinship; I seek to live in cooperative balance so that we all may thrive.
This is idealistic at times, but I would rather our genes perish than compromise
This pith of truth I have come to bathe to the marrow with my respect.

Humans may claim some magic men wrote books from the almighty.
Humans may enlist ourselves into tribes of every nation to war in factions.
Humans may pollute the water from which we were formed and send signals of vile contempt into the air.
Humans may preach that god is on their side to rationalize the very acts forbidden in their literature.

These are distractions.  These are messages in glass bottles thrown rashly into oceans,
Only to be found by later generations clumped into the very mud beneath the boat they were catapulted
Unanswered, un-responded, and un-floated around our globe
The bodies of the authors will be decomposed in crypts their brethren felt compelled to preserve their carcasses in boxes of pine to become inevitable dust generating feckless pittances.

The finders will read the preserved pages with awe as if time makes an idea more credible, prudent, or powerful; the gaps of recorded history yawn to us so with white-noise accoutrements;

The rambunctious clamor of the impetuous deceased will seep into irises and
Process in a lexicon of converted symbols
To impart meaninglessness to their genetic carriers breathing, listening and
Ranting of Pandora’s infertile gifts discovered in their bottles.

Daughter, I impart you nothing material.  I never will, for we do not really possess anything. 
All this commerce of tactile goods, emotional stability, and even biological aptitude is conducted
In a fleeting industry scoffed off by the palette of time, but
Alas there is another game afoot

For yes our bodies are disposable, but what we choose to say, elect to think and scribe
Through the paradise of the arts can be verbalized, documented and utilized by the collective 
Super-organism and all other genetic carriers on this planet and potentially the galaxy
As other forms of life may do for us

These codes are not in our deoxyribonucleic acid, but whispered in secrets above
The jurisprudence of chromosomes; it is possible to take part in surfing a wave beyond a wave
In this way; if that message in a bottle charges with effrontery at the establishment of indolence
To our collective genetics; we find victory; we taste the same pseudo flavor of eternity, which
Our genes crave.

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