Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

Russell Wardlow

Book Worm

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is the apple bad
because it a worm was found
or
is the apple already claimed
and now, both home and meal

to a creature compelled by its nature
never straying
created and animated from a source
no different than mine

what would make the worm lesser
and me, greater?
besides my powerless ignorance
to shun the divine

and how long is the kingdom
of might, when my foot
can become the God
of the worm’s plight?

is my power in the very choice
of mercy or murder
and the perception of the apple
being spoiled or perfect

what great lesson
can become of one’s own illusions
if one can not recognize
relations and influence

is it not the energy of possession
which has so possessed me
believing I have inherited all
confusing the very truth I seek

and if the world is a book
which I am learning to read
the moral is in how I see the world
isn’t necessarily how the world sees me

are not humans like the worms
consumed by consumption
with forgotten hearts
and full stomachs?

upon further thought
I have come to learn
how I view myself
reflects, how I view the worm

Oh, the Irony

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recreating myself
into another superficiality
to define my being
in your superficial reality

who am I here to impress
yet, now I speak
from a temporal abode
seeking room for release

when platitudes
put to test
your capacity of belief
and forgiveness

and why
why should I worry
myself to death
with skeletons to readdress

while closets
are buried deep
in restless homes
off busy streets

and like high school reunions
society awaits my return
along with familiar caterpillars
to judge what the butterfly has learned

Beget

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Dreaming Big
isn’t
really Big dreaming
it is you,
expressing You

what does size
have to do
with a sense
of Self

who
would see it
that you temper your inspirations
and downsize your expansion?

when the very inspiration
which wells up inside of you
to capacity
is God,
beckoning you
to be,
god!

and create,
inspire,
aspire
intuit
express,
persevere,
realize,
manifest

be your Self
the mirror
of God at work

a god
creating
from God’s creation

simply said,
Be like God,
god

tell the fears,
Be gone!
tell the mirrors,
Be god!

and Beget!

The Conjuring

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there is a conjuring
from a summoning
I wish to answer-
a call beyond my feet

hastening my suffering
achieving its vision
a fusion of the subtle
and dense

only a decision made
straightens the long road
a one way lane, each obstacle
compatible with its path

there is no pain
once possession takes its course
an ebb and flowing dominion
over sensation and experience

and might I know
the origins of Light
that I would compare Hell
to the darkness inside

and silence the mouth
giving voice to the tongueless
guiding the wanderers of mind
taking heed to the summons

Subjects of Subjugating Subjectives and Sublimation

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how selfish would it be
if I were to admit
a blasphemous thing

those two which-
I consider as Kings
also wield forceful power
over me

from my own spawn
manifested two prisons
which render certain limits
of impermanent dependence

two goals I have endlessly sought
liberating a breath I’ve fought
only to later understand
freedom could not be in their hands

and as my evolution demands
the ego must let go of its plans
but to the watchful accusers
what I would bring myself to confess

at this loneliest hour
I’ve understood a new unrest
my two pillars
may put halt to my powers

as sure as the clocks count hours
and unwavering Truth in Knowledge
I know of a balance
senses refuse to acknowledge-

as so is my challenge
hath I not stored enough mileage?
unbeknownst to conventions
the crux of my decisions

and the only admission
is of two doors
and no more
although one offers extension

ode to the man of opinion
or of spiritual dominion
identity can not
be wrapped in, where one is not

for one’s journey
is always alone
alone to one’s own soulful drama
and no other’s, for no other can roam

…

a moment of revelation…

years later, at levels too deep to rest
I’ve now understood what she said
in this lifetime, she’s chosen a journey
controlling what she begets

Mistaken Identity

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I am depressed
I have realized
at heights and depths
that I am
not my Self
and each “I”
is as impermanent
as the “Self” I’ve sought falsely
to no ends, but that of proximity
and proprietorially
for I am nowhere,
but lost
and distance
is a closeness unfathomed
and I own nothing,
but a collection of delusions!
to which I have in endless supply
why fore art thou?!