Friday, October 29, 2010

The frog

I cannot put pen to paper without writing something false.
My innermost being
my deepest woven fibers are ingrained with
Simple Utter Wrongness.
So what do I do to rise above?
What security do I cling to pull higher, to gain clarity?

I slam my body to the ground
prostrate and vulnerable.
In opposite of what I my intentions seem to say
In need of truth and wholeness.

But I cannot write about it.

Untouchable You are.
To define You is to undefine You
To write You down, a disservice,
a claim of haughty and righteous proportions

A dissected frog, push pinned in the pan,
labeled and hindered cannot stand.
We scalpel you open and name the parts with words
words word words
But nothing true.
Jump free and mend yourself from the broken splayed ribs and spilled intestines

Can we ever know everything there is to know?
To try is to fail, but do we persist?

You are only good.

But even that is only attributed from my blurry blindness,
when positivity suits the character of God like a glove.
Otherwise, forget it.

Vengeful, accursing, jealous
just, far, and other You are.
But what can I say about You?
Everything I know just is not true.

My claims are weak, accusations amiss.
Show me something completely and wholly different.