Peter Lilly: Poems

We travel in spirals, within spirals. It's a bigger picture, and more beautiful than your circles. Yet when the loops tighten, as time's fingers around the trachea of our solar system, we know, even the spirals are not the whole picture. Your irises, forged from Neptune's ice, follow the orbits and fear the heat of friction. They do not fear melting, but evaporation and the end of all things seen. It's this fear that keeps our lenses frozen, fixated on hypnotic rotations, unable to focus on the constant. It's this fear that keeps our lenses frozen, fixated on hypnotic metaphors, unable to break from the pattern of the present. Unable to acknowledge a wider perspective that can glimpse the self-identifying verity amidst the coils of our models of truth. Steadfast and unwavering, he wants to be perceived and he exists outside of our spirals. Therefore we must adapt ...

They blur and melt. All into one organism. Their faces moving in the particularity  of  their relationship to the music. All melting into the pours of the singing skin of this organism. Bass, tenor, alto, soprano: different stretching, twitching limbs in the aural dance of beautiful echoes from walls built to magnify every element of experience. Even the soloists blur and melt becoming one, through the strings and brass, with the wider choir behind. Even the conductor blurs and melts, still protruding as the third dimension, but not haughtily aloof, in the midst and in between, visible but not above, en guard at the vanguard, he is at the fore fencing distractions, and always pointing to the essence of the music. 1 Corinthians 12:12-27