sunspots

2003-09-16, 11:56 p.m.

watch them steep in darkness

i am filled with their emotions

in each clouds dying breaths, they whisper the days events into my ear, from such great heights the news cannot skew their perspectives. from beyond the clouds there is a song repeated for eternity, but in a foreign tongue, something that we -perhaps with only a few exceptions- cannot hear. Instead of looking for whisps of understanding, the gears grind in my head, nothing is audible outside of the voices and the metal.

the exceptions might only a small jump into the vast expanse of knowledge which the song holds. for the true saint, or philosopher, this song is like the gnashing of teeth, so powerful and unmistakable. how could they learn from a noise that is so repugnant? it is a burden to hold, and it was the death of St. Thomas Aquinas, if only his mind could have been submerged in the clouds of todays sunset; teeth would become like the harps in heaven, a voice could tell him, clear as day, what dreams came from the distant stars and what sonnets the supernovas had written