The Word Only Comes To Those Who Leave The World Behind...

The Word only comes to those who leave the world behind

They won't be printed on any ad or street sign

You can read a million wordless pages & get the picture

Consume cover to cover of every literary flavor & mixture

Yet never find a single word to light the fire of your mind

Until you finally find the Word that leaves & left the world behind

Words stand stranded like corpses floating on oceans of ink

Where tides of tepid torments turn life's empty pages gently  a w  a   y

Words scrawled & slashed-out on countless unseen surfaces

Where muddled minds stretched souls too thin

And cast no spell before being crumpled-up & tossed back

With all that other rubbish & old receipts, which all lack value too

Words hide, silhouetted & disguised behind blackened pupils

That propped themselves unblinkingly open to study every lexical photon

Hoping to decipher some sign of that secret, shimmering light

See so many words like these, but never find the Word at all

Until you find the Word that was written in the immortal language

Which tattoos itself on exiled hearts & heads

Before it bleeds from those fewest fingers

Which extend themselves through sacred pens

Pointed sharply at empyreans of paper

To strike some tiny spark of the highest, divine light

Which shines enough to shame the tenebrific blight

That stains the span of the all-consuming abyss of all existence

Find the Word engraved in the wrinkles of sagging skin

that surrounds those eyes which stare at suns, unblinking & unblind

-knowing all this light is dimmer than the kind they've kindled deep inside

Hear the Word whispered on the unheard winds

that seem to cloud so many ears in fugues of mistaken silence

Feel the Word flooding through the tears

that forever fail to wash-away the stains & scars

which read like epitaphs, unetched above the tombs of unknown soldiers

whose secret wars are waged eternally, in every unspoken breath

Taste the Word in the blood of your own bitten tongue 

as it chomps down to mute the righteous rage

which seeps like poisoned vapor into the otherwise untainted silence

Smell the Word in the air which turns to ash

in the last lingering moment of somber stillness

before the nuclear annihilation allows our long invited end

These are the words which reach us

When we cease to reach for the ungraspable world

And leave behind all except the lessons

Which blind the eyes of every deliberate seeker

And deafen every unsilenced ear

And burn the tongue of every spoken syllable

And choke the scent from every nose sniffing for a trail

And numb the skin of every soul that touches soil 

as if it were but dirt to which their corpse should join

The Word only comes to those who leave the world behind

and allow themselves to find what lurks unhidden

in the senseless, deeper truth of the all unfathomable aether

which the world so desperately tries to disguise

-For the only word one triumphs to find

Is the Word that's found when we leave 

the vastest and emptiest world behind