This is an answer poem to Ren’s brilliant Thursday poem.
Truth
Counting backwards from singularity
To when we wondered how the world might
Heed the prophecies we unexpectedly
Wrote down to our muses’ dictation
There was no pause,
Barely a lifting of the pen from the paper,
Nor the fingers from the keyboards
Of either tunes or words.
The picture, the story, was always complete
Before it even took a physical shape,
Before it fell into our eyes, our times, our minds.
Just there, apparent fate,
In all the plots and stories,
In all the songs and symphonies,
All the paintings, collages, plays.
The singularity is our universal truth,
The only end point imaginable
And unimaginable.
R 18/04/2024 18:36
EDIT
Here's that piece of paper (my journal) with the scribbled first draft. The stones are from M and the children.
Wonderful! The Genius found you.
Like?.... more like flipping love your poetry. Just scribbeled it down on a piece of paper 'eh.
Well then