the Deevil is a very noisy entity,
so noisy that the refrain becomes unheard;
the busy-signal betwixt lines of question and answer;
so ever-present, it's pitch becomes inured.
to argue or to settle, to disengage or to meddle,
is the constant conundrum that humms inside the mind.
seeking neither consensus nor answer, conflict itself the dancer;
the Deevil is the counterpoint of being aligned.
invisible divisiveness, question as answer;
but what is the answer to a question posed?
when each arises by defense or alliance
with a challenge Opposition itself supposed?
why stance, instead of chance?; why challenge, instead of balance?
what is the foothold that crumbles, underneath?
where is the Creator?, who is the Relator?,
what is the Given, that's given over to disbelief?
aaah, the Rub, the friction of fiction;
the bully that finds Achilles' heel.
instead of tenderness, empathy, or acknowledgement,
disclusion is the challenge, a toehold to abrading how you feel.
but Reality is quiet; it rides its own riot;
calm and upheaveal, in interplay, grows and melds.
it is inclusive, not exclusive, neither side is elusive;
each action necessitates the next, as each equal-opposite tells.
everything is momentary, nothing is stationary;
life itself thrives on its own ever-changing sphere.
it's held together by both sides of the tether;
otherwise, devilment wouldn't even be here.
the unexplained is always the question claimed:
where did we come from, and where do we go?
it does not matter, but the Matter, itself, does;
boundaries only exist by what is believed as being So.
Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness is an adage,
so often said it becomes obscure.
but when things are orderly, aligned, and smoothly intertwined,
they are not as obvious as when they are disturbed.
the Deevil lies in this dichotomy of elusion;
each answer and aim is made by everyone's separate guess.
the Plenty of enticement comes in momentary victories,
slowly gaining attention by investing in his unrest.
but attempts to constrain Life's movement and change
rely on innuendo, pitting a Better against a Worse.
the refrain is temptation, the sour note that keeps playing,
perpetuating the one-sided Bounty that he blurs.
and the illusion of inclusion works against itself,
proclaiming a boundary as an opening to an end.
for no restriction can offer eternity,
there is no side that evens out amends.
for the twain always meets, centered underneath;
tidals and cycles balance every repetition we know.
the only grasp we really have
is in what we're willing to let Go.
Graphic: "Who Plays Whom"
by Leslie Wood