The Sun is Purple

Cross-legged, clairvoyant Spots across the sky form the precursor to this analogous grid Speckles through pupils as we spit colors on to cave walls Tracing shapes with our fingers Trances show us the figures Skin and bones compose our songs Our instruments still have a pulse The first music of animal sounds Inspires cries the likes of which Earth has never heard. Skins stretched into drums pound our message skyward. Chanting in time to our movement convulsions of the divine. I don't quite remember the ages past before the spear. Herbs and fungus burning Serves to tell us why we're here. And I feel the ground inhale. I see the clouds grow fat. I see the Sun is purple Our ultraviolet god. We still growl like dogs. We still eat like wolves. We still die like vermin, But now we have some control.

!

Reviews

• 
  dirty clean poet
  September 4
  
  Edit | Reply
  are you suggesting that, however much we advance, we still have animal insticts? or that however much we advance determines however much we have control? either way, bit interesting concepts.
  the fact that there is no direct narative, just mostly ideas and images, is very powerful- brings about a primal instinct- indestinct feelings and senses- that suits this poem very well
  
  dcp
  xx

  . Rewarded 6
• 
  gnosisonG
  September 7
  
  Edit | Reply

  Worthy of Shamanic Etching.

  If this naturilstic piece of "cave-art" were to be discovered by future archeologists delving into past musings I feel sure it would be pored over by acedemia attempting to uncover mental dispositions of ancient thinkers with aplomb and deserved acumen.
  You describe a state of humanity bound to Platos shadows cast upon igneous surface yet accutely cognizant of the realities lying beyond our surface senses.
  Purple being (according to Goethes colour spectrum) the most deeply warming colour/sentiment of emotive subconscience aptly inscribes a grail quest for the hue eluding the psyche/grail of human progression.
  Leastways thats what this inferior scribe derived.
  The animal of instint shrouded in shadow of ignorance always lurks beneath the surface of any and every attempt at personal enlightenment through poetic endeavour as your concluding stanza so adroitly adumbrates.
  And your prolific produce becomes you if I may be so bold.
  
  Cheers
  
  gG