Today is metaphor day,
a day not unlike the fogged in bay
with men in small craft searching for their way
by shadows, and dim, distant lights….
like a rustle in the leaves made by a varmints flight,
What was it? Did you see? “Well, it was like….”
The plight of those with eyes unseeing
the mysteries beyond the face of being,
“It’s sort of like,” is the best one can do;
while groping blindly for that which is true.
Philosophical premise, axiom and theory,
the meager fruit of direct inquiry
are like candles lit to find the sun,
which is like the rising bridegroom, his course to run.
the music of metaphor, faint echoes of mystery,
hint, point and picture a deeper meaning to history
teasing out awe from ordinary encounter,
like the dark brought to dawn by aviary chatter.
The meaning is in the metaphor, somewhere, I’m sure
wound, interwoven, all mixed in, hardly pure.
Like the leaves, metaphors dance and shade,
giving color to light amidst divine accolades
For the glory is the story, a holy pun, oft begun:
“It’s as if a sower; like a lost sheep, lost coin, or son,”
The weight of which is truth, far heavier than gold,
with metaphor like the emcee inviting, “come on in, behold!”