A conduit to certainty, to clarity and then to mystery. Tired eyes pierce the veil of circumstance, the caul of happenstance and ignorance. Seeing clear the miracle called Man by god and God by men. How life can be lived in a vale of tears and yet appear paradise to deceivers and hell to those deceived.
The amber and the gold that carve a crude path through neural channels and canals, to a place of fluidity, mystery clarified in sparkling eyes, that see and despise the cries of man abandoned to his lonely toil beneath a burning sky and blackened soil.
Voices heard clear and loud from a world beyond clouds in tones clear and proud they speak of utopia clearly seen in flashes of myopia. On starry nights when tarmac becomes a travellator leading to a greater consciousness before unconsciousness overtakes and brakes are applied to the ride just in time to save me from supremacy and the knowledge of a deity who sings songs of a happy mass from the bottom of my whiskey glass.
© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com