#98: Hi, I'm Me . . . Nice To Meet Ya! (Self Knowledge)

(Sighn Post 8)

It Flashed Beside Us Like A Bolt,
A Lightning Crack Of Vastly Volt,
And Though It Gave Us Both A Jolt,
We Read It Clear As Day.
And This, It Had To Say.

You've come to shed delirium.
So be it that you're deaf and dumb
sailing's more than cranium . . .
and more than wind and hull.

So shun the sanitarium,
packaged pills and bottled rum . . .
and yet, to each you may succumb,
to peer below the skull.

And toss away your mirrors, chum.
Reflection is but cumbersome
when you will seek the medium
beyond all obstacle.

You've sought the auditorium
of inventory shelf and sum,
to find that fingers and a thumb
don't make a hand that's full.

How does man . . . or anyone
get to know himself, or come
to know the soup his soul has swum
to be this barnacle?

No, there's not a modicum
of cell in pericardium,
nor any tissued speculum
lent to monocle . . .

that gives the equilibrium
beyond the womb and worrisome
existence of today's prud'homme,
in living spectacle.

We're forced to simply string and strum
our instruments, 'ore we become
just some more petroleum,
and decaying chronicle.

Thinking is the only drum
that meters 'neath the tweedledum
we use to hide behind the hum
of each new versicle.

So, turn inside . . . ad libitum,
and shoot, like lasered radium,
the ghosts you use to mime and mum
your own, true miracle . . .
that short of sainthood's pinnacle . . .
know thyownself better some!