After Equinox

After Equinox

by James Farganne

The scales of light have tipped. With each
Day, daylight’s tide ebbs down.
I straggle on this astral beach,
Knowing that soon the brown,

Cold, bitter swell of winter will
Again heave up to meet
And cover, till they cannot feel,
These aging, leaden feet.

I stand my ground. How can I turn?
From this ocean of time
We come. To it we must return.
Apart from this, our dream,

Attached to light, abundance,
Cursing cold and dark, forgets
The great cyclical dance
Of the one water that wets,

Warms, freezes, births, destroys,
Stagnates and circulates, explodes,
Retracts, boils over, sinks and buoys,
Cleanses and cracks our best-paved roads.

The whole water can’t be spoken.
It shrugs the webs of words and charts.
Once we are all awoken
From our sciences, our arts,

Our economies of measure,
Our hearts’ hoarding, then perhaps
We’ll grasp that truth – true, free treasure
That it is – cannot be grasped.

Till then, ships ply the water
For its plunder. And still I
Prefer to cold and gray the brighter,
Hotter, day-drenched summer sky.

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I Will Not Be Controlled

I Will Not Be Controlled

by James Farganne

From somewhere in the Power Grid,
I shout a statement bold
As it is terse and lucid:
I will not be controlled.

I will not say I’ve seen the light.
The light was always there.
I will not say I’ve won a fight
With forces thin as air,

For I was always free. Only
Illusions had me sold.
Awake intention is the key:
I will not be controlled.

Not by the clock, nor by the cent,
Nor by the data stream,
That oceanic current
Drowning us in one vast dream

Of time-bound, earthly “value”
Locked in data bits, in gold.
The only raft that’s tried and true?
“I will not be controlled.”

Not by the crafted tastes and lusts,
The fashions of today;
Not by foundations, think tanks, trusts,
Not by the CIA,

Not by phantasmagoric sleights
Of hidden, occult hand,
Not by tricks to “reclaim my rights”–
I do not “understand”

Such busy schemes. I won’t conform
To any legal mind.
Even the “freeman” is a norm.
I will not be defined.

I will fill no conceptual mold.
I will not be controlled.

Not by a market pixel blip.
Not by induced brainwaves.
Not by a meter or a chip.
Only intention saves.

They think “mind has no firewall”?
In this they are deceived.
The one who stands in spirit tall
Through prayer is soon relieved.

I’ll keep my spirit wild,
Only tamed by What Made Me.
I won’t be charmed or styled
By the lisping Enemy,

Whose dark, inverted “freedom”
Chains the mind, shackles the soul.
Here in my Father’s kingdom,
It has no such control.

I will not be controlled by it
Or any other thing.
So though a slave by crooked writ,
In Truth, I am a king,

Bound only by eternal Law.
The codes be burnt in hell
Where their oath-bound purveyors
Shall one day surely dwell.

The Grid grows ever stronger.
But despite its strangling hold,
I am a slave no longer,
For I will not be controlled.

Molecular Thoughts