Is each word to be a coin
of payment, never flipped to know
its chance of heads or tails? When myth
is seen as dogma or as lies,
we mistranslate the very language
of our souls. For truth is painted
of many colors; God’s one light
refracts, breaks apart, through angles
of prismatic perception, yet sums
to being. His music plays across
the infinite modes of chord and discord,
finding harmony with each voice.
Hear it and dance. Flip your coin
and come up on the other side
of a chance, the other side
of every payment you have made.
Stephen Brooke ©2012
Some thoughts on metaphor and being, in a more-or-less poetic form.