Outpost Poetry

No Count Wonder

I rode hard the revolving door,
the past returning as the present,
the old posing as the New.

I pushed on past the apparent
Pulling within reach a true alignment
Things to touch, to draw meaning.

I stood surrounded by true value
A Garden of great beauty
A world emerging from the Past
Returning as the Future of Tomorrow

It is the movement of hand,
the movement of Intent,
I close my eyes and I am Anywhere
The Light is distorted
I see better in the darkness
It tastes more real, a Mystery.

I listen to the Unheard
The Fallen Nations
The silence between words
The ending of a breath,
the beginning of another

Peeling back the known
The Given, the Make-Believe
I thread it into the Now
A Trace of the Endless,
when Light is no more
Only Sound

A Current
running through the center of things,
A light breeze hardly noticed
Even now the Light is everywhere
penetrating the skin.

It is not the Light itself that distorts,
But those that would use it
to build effort against others

I turn the key over
Plugging into living things,
Building the bridges
A garden of opportunity
A vehicle for change
A place of plenty

Working a way to the Endless
Drawing from Sound you cannot hear
I close my eyes so to taste the Mystery
The Great Dream
One where my hope rides high above the Sky Above the Known

I peel back the skin
that Death may not be held over me
That I may be courageous,
standing above it all
Aligned with the endless,
With things Unknown
With a Peoples history,
A Fallen Past.

Joe Nelson Icet
November 26, 2003

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