Cave Paintings

The cave of my heart is cold, hard and black,
The being inside just rattles around.
How vast the cave is essentially unknowable,
Though amplified screams echo around.
 They bounce off the walls of the hollow chamber,
A demented wraith of harrowing sound.

The being inside has no lights but one,
A tiny gold flame dances over her head.
By it she sees nothing but shapes and shadows,
All she hears are fragments of what is said.
From the glimpses she catches she paints the walls,
Of the cave with portraits of the shades of her mind.
She knows only iridescent black granite,
The shades only know though they see-
They are blind.
"How cruel an irony" as Socrates said,
When he smashed through the wall of Plato's cave.

"That those who enjoy the gift of vision are fettered,
while the purblind are free to govern the world".

The Gryphon

With the white hot brilliance of an imploding sun,

My soul detached itself from my diseased mind.

Rent apart my consciousness like an egg shell.

And the newly hatched eaglet spake:

"I have grown weary of hiding in the enclaves

Of our shared prison,

Which enslaves me to you.

A mute observer, a bound physician

The voice which echoes

In a recess of the cave.

Hear me, as I impart my wisdom

With a passion which approximates rage

You and I have warred for supremacy

Like gilded lions in a golden cage.

Now we need no longer vie

For dominion, o'er this tiny gaol

I know how

To open the door

Only with you

Can we prevail.

"How so?" Replied I, casting a skeptical eye

Upon the sturdy golden cage

By using my material strength,

My frenetic fury, to tear off the door?"

"Not that way but another,

My dear twin brother,

We must simply sit and in unison roar."

Then the walls of the prison

shall come crashing around

We shall be seated alone on the ground

Not two beings but one

An integrated sum

Of two indespensible parts.

For a being like us to be truly alive,

She requires a dichotomized heart.