Wisdom Is The Pure-Bled Soul, And Eyes Once Closed, Now Open


There are wisest souls in life:

Who stillness touched,
Who motion choked,
Who fire burned,
Who water drowned,
Who passion drew,
Who abstinence wept,
For moments known,

Wisdom keeps
With each new scar,
As to sink
As distant star,

All the brighter
All the lost,
Are always made
By fires cost,

All the souls who wisdom bore:

Who hide,
Who flaunt,
Who flee,
Who whore,
Who wince,
Who wallow,
Forever more,

Wisdom releases those children:

For to suffer
is to know,
As to know
Is always suffering,

To remove the sword from flame
Is to bend the edge again,
As to keep it from the hells
Is to all it’s sharpeness quell,

So is soul, and such is grace,
To crosses born of All’s sure pace,
The fires flicker ‘cross the face
As Wisdom sings within her lace.

“Come within and yet without,
For all my fires dance about,
Warmth my rays, do eshew out,
So humble flow upon them.”

And Wisdom spake
As Wisdom knew,
And all the rays reflected blue
And all the Stillness roaring true,

And eyes
Once closed,
Now open
Rows along their brows,

And all shall be
As all was,
Apart from pain
Aglow as us.



I would like to thank Thursday Poet’s Rally for their consideration in the Perfect Poets Award.

I would like to nominate:

K. Shawn Edgar



About Epoch Awareness. Writer, J.D. Hughes

I write. Do you read? I write. I write words: Carefully and consistently, and chaotically, from the deep pulsar unison of the still mind (or the violent undoing of the still mind); Sometimes I resemble Robert Zimmerman (my hair uncut, my mind uncut, all unregulated thoughts, wind haphazard along a pale american brow too). Sometimes, Sometimes words are fragments of paragraphs and you find them eschew in and from time, and with care, in the long ribbon fabric or one single unsealed cosmic spiral, and then they burn wild like black-holes ( birthing voids built the milky way); Still there are words so heavy and pure that they anchor fast the mind to the mere memory of their syllables in the quiet echoes, in and around, the deep violet sea of the questioning readers inner-mind. I write sentences: In strands, like silk, or links in chains, or diamond arranged compressed carbon coal electrons, or the frequency of more intimately woven atoms; In intricate quilts of reason, and warmly glowing sheets of cotton fiction that cover you at 4 am on a Sunday (with the sun bright and a bastard, soon to be hitting your face from the slats in the window shades); I write paragraphs, and as such I consider it a duty of the considerate and conflicted human to consider their conflicts human, and consider: In airports, in churches, in penthouses in Hollywood (who overlook the homeless mountains and the slanting fogs of debilitated industries, and the vacuum seduction, and lifeless Angel City in the Wests bleached blonde sand, and lids of imagery cover sad vacant eyes), in station wagons, in deep wood temples in Maine, near the Androscoginn River, where the Native Americans caught silver fish and eternity lived off communal tides to the distant ocean, which is now more black than the sky from our waste, now wrought with the studied three-headed-demon-fish, (but still a holy place Maine, it glows); In any meaningful medium, known or noun, imaginable is mans only true duty. It is mans only Deity (For what was with God, what was God? The Word was, In The Beginning). To chase the promise that reality and truth are not yet only relative devices, and leaving these scriptures: On brains, and on paper, and on papyrus, and old plaster, and on the backs of old Polaroids (once someone did at least), the thin skin on wet hands who ru
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17 Responses to Wisdom Is The Pure-Bled Soul, And Eyes Once Closed, Now Open

  1. perfect, love your poem…

    you could use this as 41 submission, no need to comment until you are free before next rally, which is April 21-27……..also, you are automatically nominated to for Outstanding Poet of April only if you have a submission to week 41….

    hope to see you in,

    Good Luck on your agenda.

  2. lunawitch15 says:

    Wow this is fabulous! I mean really… WOW! Thank you so much for sharing this!


  3. Neezes says:

    Great stuff, really interesting structure with the shorter and longer lines, lovely lyrical style too.

  4. “For to suffer
    is to know,
    As to know
    Is always suffering,”

    I loved this line and this is why ignorance is bliss!

  5. Julie Laing says:

    I agree with nonsensefile–the lines about suffering and knowing are wonderful and just jumped out at me. Thanks for sharing this piece for the rally!

  6. ok, you had me at the title 🙂
    Enjoy the rally!

  7. Amity says:

    WE all learn a lesson or two from our mistakes, right?

    And life is really beautiful, as you have sewn your words in this beautiful poem! Lovely indeed!

  8. Vinay says:

    Need some stepping stones to pass through life! 🙂 I enjoyed your poetry, Hughes 🙂

    Rally Week 41 – My Poetry

  9. Jingle says:

    visit poets back please…when you find the time,

    Happy Rally.

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