The Gospel

The Sacrifice of Iphigenia, François Perrier

Lucretius preaches—
Change is a recycling matter,
Lucretius preaches
the Gospel:
Losing ourselves along the way,
Some of the content may sink as densities vary
Compound upon the temporal
Find themselves again
New patterns—
Pearls of hidden thread,
Nooks and crannies become the Son.
Venus approaches in golden seashell chariot,
Riding on Fibonacci wheels—
The gospel ended
The atoms
Could not perceive the Sub-terrain
As Darwin could not perceive the shifting plates below,
Our brightest fail to see their nose
To face the illusion of superiority
In thought—the driving force, forgets
Accident and sharp eye more often than intention
Move you in a stumbling pursuit
Cannot define what shields distraction and aligns Us
The practice sways, is singular,
Spiraling around,
Get lost here,
Discover something:
The perception of past actions
Connecting motives
Despite knowing or not, take heed
Of all the suppressed,
The sub terrain speaks in whispers
Despite what the Institutions express, Consider
The stranger who feels like home; words
So much my own; land
Not met—mine
Matter melts season
to season