Any man's significance seems mighty insignificant
to anything outside the sea shores and mountaintops.
He can try feel at one, but he'll never be more than alone.
He can filter the seas of minerals and life,
but his eyes will never see a speck of purity.
He can leap off bridges, fall through clouds and glide through the stratosphere,
but he'll always fall short of real bending fear.
He can hunt down oxen and deer, study their bones, pick their brains,
drape themselves in their fur,
strap on their horns and wear their hooves as boots,
but he'll never attain their wildness.
He can study mathematics, calculate decimal points, measure bacteria and
square root that by half an atom till kingdom come,
but he won't know true preciseness till his own time has come.
His time and numbers play no real role, His words plays no real role,
fur and bones play no real role, trees and their leaves,
wild flowers and their honey bees play no real role,
bricks, glass, mirrors and plastic spoons barely make an utterance,
while the aging man's body is somewhere in between.
His equations aim to explain, but his science only detracts,
his poems aim at being content with misery,
but his language merely distracts.
Neither here nor there nor somewhere in between.
Every poet, every pianist, every trapper, every fisherman, every cowboy, every tramp, every monk, every shaman, every ju jitsu master, every mathematician, every astronaut, every alcoholic and their fathers and their brothers, their enemies and their friends.
Neither here nor there nor somewhere in between.
to anything outside the sea shores and mountaintops.
He can try feel at one, but he'll never be more than alone.
He can filter the seas of minerals and life,
but his eyes will never see a speck of purity.
He can leap off bridges, fall through clouds and glide through the stratosphere,
but he'll always fall short of real bending fear.
He can hunt down oxen and deer, study their bones, pick their brains,
drape themselves in their fur,
strap on their horns and wear their hooves as boots,
but he'll never attain their wildness.
He can study mathematics, calculate decimal points, measure bacteria and
square root that by half an atom till kingdom come,
but he won't know true preciseness till his own time has come.
His time and numbers play no real role, His words plays no real role,
fur and bones play no real role, trees and their leaves,
wild flowers and their honey bees play no real role,
bricks, glass, mirrors and plastic spoons barely make an utterance,
while the aging man's body is somewhere in between.
His equations aim to explain, but his science only detracts,
his poems aim at being content with misery,
but his language merely distracts.
Neither here nor there nor somewhere in between.
Every poet, every pianist, every trapper, every fisherman, every cowboy, every tramp, every monk, every shaman, every ju jitsu master, every mathematician, every astronaut, every alcoholic and their fathers and their brothers, their enemies and their friends.
Neither here nor there nor somewhere in between.
