The Art of Hyperbole

Now jovially anew, swallow the stars…

Burp and fart supernovae. Henceforth this is reality: the yet unreal. Or have you never flown in your dreams? But you are not a bird…

Imagine Blake, seeing the simple tree flecked with daemonic fallen angels. Picture Saul made Paul on the serpentine road to Damascus. Believe in a dream a luminous spirit told longing Descartes, ‘The conquest of nature is to be achieved with number and measure,’ and then, count the ancient mysteries never undertaken, the Big Bangs coming to the crunch, your astounded gasps and gaze inspired into aspirant space…

Then freely thus, remember ever confounding dreams, torturous visions, hallucinations of hilarity, teach when they taunt, and such delusions are destiny, and this earthly realm is for the heavenly minded, and when first you found yourself doing philosophy, you were at play…

Climbing skyscrapers with foundations in the clouds afloat, lifting a giant aloft upon your unshrinking shoulders and casting an inspired eye further even than he, what can you see? A universe of adventure unlimited ahead; not made for the mundane; not for answers, but of questions; not for proof, but of the unproven; not of the living, but for the unlived…

Now jovially anew, swallow the stars…

© Thomas James Foster 2015


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