Everything Has a Face

Thu, 05/09/2013 - 12:50 -- Naani77


United States
39° 39' 22.8312" N, 104° 45' 49.5432" W

Everything has a face
Just like my Brother’s old backpack
Hanging in the closet with its snares and tares
And every time I look
At it seeing its entirety, places it’s gone, baggage it has carried
I see His face in my mind
Everything has a trace
Like that math problem on the page probably constructed by a
Desperate engineer
worrying about
How he was going to make a means
For his family, if he couldn’t pay the certain debts
To escape the logical death that numbers arrayed
And the variables in his life wouldn’t make a way
Like I care about the strain and pain
That produced the proof of those
numbers, the name associated with every association
that deceive every man and whisper to him
to sway between the veil of the cave and the sun
...Must make the sun have a face too
Everything has a name as I’m
sitting here thinking that I knew the oppressed One’s agony
Only to face the reality of pain in the passing of sincerity
Words of nature in my head, now wisdom nurtured in my heart
When my Brother’s baggage became mine
Hey Plato is that why all of your forms are capitalized
The Truth with a big T, and Goodness with a big G
They’re proper nouns
Then I can say what Goodness is and Truth is--wait...
Not what, its who
Who are you
Reveal your person, your face
And in my disgrace I’m back to the name
Of my Brother artistically etched with as tory in every line of that backpack
Like the lines in your weary eyes
That only the shaper, not the beholder can define
So, I gotta say with my all my mind, heart, soul and strength
That Love has a face that payed a hateful price
Justice has a face that bears a wrath of no strife
Goodness has a face that surpasses the troubled time
All of which must’ve been embodied because existing is better than being studied
And even Evil’s got a face
And it works with the material schemes
Of man’s illusional machines
It doesn’t breath, but works in ease, the idol of man’s Dream
With a solid face, it continues until it breaks
And ties man to the black chains
Devoid of blood, but bleeds the wrists and forsakes to the flame
It’s easy to talk about God in a cave, like I have
But I can’t experience Him until His face is shines, His voice beckons
Though I’m a die-hard fan of philosophy
I can’t live it
Socrates with his red, swollen eyes is right in saying nothing can be known
Sleepless all night, trying to figure out what the ring means
And everything Gyges lost and can’t be found through the slaveman’s shepharding
It’s not the art, but the artist that wins
Trace me, I’m nothing
And by my knowledge, I’m not truth’s author, I who sin
Name me, I’m nameless
Tell me what’s simple, what I’ve never known
Grace me, because I own none
Face me, oh beauty, because You are devasted when mine disowns You
It’s not what truth is...it’s Who


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