The Incorporeal Personal Agent

Turn around, face down,

Jump up to the bottom.

See the music; hear the scent,

And smell the written word.

Watch out for the little folk,

Their feet be as big as a tree.

Sleeping awake in the day,

Dead and dreaming in the night.

Silent echoes of waves reverberate,

Tidal bound in a sea of light.

Viewing downcast upwards,

Looking all directions at once.

Behind, forward, sideways out,

Streaming eight ways at points.

Lest a gods ire spit poison from,

It’s venemous faceted eyes.

The ether, the spirit,

The ethereal outlines of,

The outer planes come to call.

All is lost to endless dark,

Except:

The upside down was,

Right side up, and

The mirror image was flipped.

The backwards inversion,

Spewed false prophecy.

Vision hampered by a,

Boundary that none can see.

Up is not up and,

Down is not down.

Sideways is that direction,

Depending on which way you face.

Watch every word that,

You say in mute silence;

Ancient curses have,

Come to wager and play.

It is the procession,

The rade, the mayfly day,

The stars in alignment.

The stories were all true,

It seems it is a seeming.

Get salt into those corners or;

shadows gather in every possible space.

We zigged when zagging was,

The strategy in the stars.

So we lost our way,

A common refrain from any day.

Compassionately they quietly,

Take their box seats.

Drifting with purpose to,

Each venue we have so;

Very thoughtfully prepared.

We stuck our heads in the,

Sky, one day and still,

Failed to see the painfully clear.

Written in words that,

Dwarf mountains in their size.

We missed and missed and,

Then we forgot it all.

No excuse does that make,

Our judges impartially sound.

This is the true purpose of man,

To learn through the extremes;

That bound the distant images;

Of the edges of your mind.

The oldest stories are all real you see.

They speak of a different time.

A different place besides this earth,

A different law to underline,

Their painfully benign attention,

To speak clearly and cleanly;

Ascending in order, mantras

Of distant philosophy, remnants

Of an alternate time.

Of which our memory knows,

Far more than any waking I.

Wonderland is seen by all,

The white rabbitt come late too,

Call the sides to order.

It is nearly time to begin.

Not by any clocks standard,

We know, far less than our

Unconcious selves, whose lives,

Stretch back in the mists,

Of aeons past and,

Remember that which was:

Unknown today that which,

Was known yesterday, baffling

Our greatest minds. Tied painfully,

To a most accurate measure of time.

There must be some connection to,

The calendars of ancient days, when,

We worshipped the sky, in the golden

Ages that defined how a life might lie.

From 45 BC up until 9 in a common,

Year not adopted by, all

That was holy until, one thousand five

Hundred and seventy one years had,

Passed since the time of 11 leap years

In threes and 5 with none at all.

That was the time of empire;

When the world changed in a blink,

Peoples disappeared and we still use,

Their systems of order, measurements,

And adherence too, the events that

Transpired then to affect today,

So much so that we,

Have blinded our historical record.

To the fact that an entire;

Continent dwelling people, are

Dismissed as merely footnotes;

Despite the walls that surround them.

Bound together as they are;

All saying the same things,

With little change, since the age

When gods walked amongst men and,

The hanging gardens of Babylon,

We’re in glorious bloom.

Fish headed men came by;

Taught civilized behaviour to,

Our oh so primitive forebearers.

Who, despite, their obvious infirmaries,

The source of which is today,

Competed in millennial games,

With far more skill than ours.

Our single minded attention span,

That requires only the most objective,

And smartest opinions to have any say.

Learning our advanced ways cost,

We gave our selves to a chosen few,

And trust solely in their solemn words.

Our faith shining forth to protect,

Our staunchest of beliefs, that,

Speak the same words,

Those ancients did. Identical,

Stuck in basic setting.

That children are reckless,

The youth today, times were

Better long ago,

When women first stood up,

And said to liberation we go.

The same words,

Thousands of years apart,

Almost like a Chiastic code,

And nothing has changed since then.

When we began record keeping and;

Trusted wisemen to guide us,

In exchange for care, toil and attention,

To keep them comfortably focused.

On remembering that which is gone

and the dust of time blew over.

Memorization is the key,

It is why we are forgotten.

The ancient oral traditions were,

The most important;

Teaching in our entire history,

When we gave over the hard work,

Of learning a thing and created

Writing to do it for us.

A fairytale is really a story told,

From the time when all was known,

About our world, our solar system,

And the accurate measurement of time.

Mintaka, Anihlim and one other

Orion’s Belt as it is known today,

Aligned with most ancient of

Monuments that stir up,

The creative mind at speed.

All you need To see it, is already right;

In front of you, like the anomaly,

That lies between here and there,

That we can see with;

Our mighty telescopic eyes and ponder

As a quirk of nature.

Mintaka, also known;

As the accurate beam,

The sliding scale, the most

Important tool for trade;

We know this as a truth.

Put them together and you see

There is something to be said

About the holes in our history

And what is inside the missing

Pieces of the puzzle, that requires

A greater mind than I.

The great pyramid itself,

Aligned with a star, tap dead,

Centre mass of earth, it’s

Coordinates add up.

To the speed of light.

The distance from here to there;

Is quite hardly understood,

It returns two values, passing

Itself through a stitch in time.

And still the message is;

Most difficult to express but;

It seems apparent to me;

Ancient Egypt could see;

The same anomaly as we,

Between us and the star at;

The tip of the point,

Where the dead flare off,

Their spirits travelling,

To the other side.

What did they know,

That they would name it so.

Look to your language,

Your words and sounds,

To the stories that came from,

That magical place, where they

Are instantly dismissed by our

Rational minds as fancy,

Good nights, and sand in the eye.

Soon we will all see a spider,

Beside us;

Drinking tea and

Smiling a smile.