New World Odour [poem]

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When I survey the hollow earth beneath the feet of actors
shuffling in and out of mortal coils, the not so gentle scent
of some things future creeps into my nasal tubes like latent
molecules in which some atoms have been bonded chemically
(under duress [though true to form it’s never what it seems]).
When I was small my Auntie Gert once said, on seeing that a
stubborn wound of mine refused to heal: “It will get worse before
it can get better”. Aware her wisely words were right, I’ve since
applied that saying to the many other branches of my life.

And now that I have grown (2 far and far 2 fast) and look across
the brightly-textured paradox we call the planet Earth I note that
Gertrude’s aphorism serves us well. For, far from hurtling straightly
to a golden age of love and peace (as very many wishful thinking
minds believe but which a full and honest study of the hidden facts
would otherwise reveal)], there first must be disturbances which
culminate in cataclysms more distressing than our world has
ever known before. I share this with you not to paralyse your
heart with fear but so your sacred strings of life and love will not
be pulled by some deceiving, thieving, unbelieving puppeteer.

The not-so-gentle scent of some things future is the odour of a
world pretending to be new but yet, in truth, it represents a war in
heavens older than the hills below involving beings of another kind
which one day we will come to know. The good and golden angels
help us through the vales and shadowlands of life and death. So we
are not alone and to their subtle intimations we must not be blind
or numb or ignorantly deaf. Neither must we foolishly be martyrs
to our cause before we’ve had a chance to do our duty full; though
someday just by doing good we’ll all be dubbed as felonous outlaws.

A force of evil sprays the good with tar and if we carefully look
we’ll see they left their cellar door ajar through which with stealth
we peer and then our darkside education can begin. But if we
bluntly then refuse to face the ugly naked truths that basement
holds within, our stark surprise will all the wailing worseful be when
every lying white façade erected throughout history is stripped
away like leaves blown by a typhoon from a tall but vulnerable tree.
Please do not be afraid or wither up inside; the time has come to
take our places standing fast before this black and scarlet tide.

By this I do not mean that we can change it with some revolution
dreams [for the dark must wholly run its course, as evil always must
to reach its fullness goal for only then can hidden powers of love and
light enact the righteous fight so justice then can be consoled] but
rearrange the mindfulness of those who now deny this diabolic force.
The time will not be very long before the period of trial will come.
Exactly how long we don’t know and neither can we know the full
duration of those dark and dreadful days. But come they will and
those who know and understand must now prepare while light
prevails, following the folded paper trails left for us by angels from
beyond the veil signalling what deeds our future may involve yet
always in the knowledge that when every trace of darkness has
been swept away we’ll hear the dulcet songful soulish passion of
a risen-from-the-ashes phoenix-like internal universal nightingale.

© 2012, Alan Morrison

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