illusion is definitely not propaganda ... it is the poet's role to unravel its core and reveal the center beyond it ... and hopefully, still have the stamina to spread the words it reveals ...

"or the power of the word
as it fades as the music stabs
& the dream of existence
transforms to a butterfly"

one of the many excellent verses in this poem ...

Thank you for your words and brilliant description Sage Sweetwater: on the infinite plains of transmigration in context as the connection of all life, the many one, one many, unity in diversity, is seen as the androgynous feminine principle of creation analogous to eternal return. Mind creates its own archetypes through which to exist and the human plain is not at the centre of this creation, where it insists God is made in its image.

This is a well penned piece of the poets
curse for sure. I can relate. Excellent!

The greatest discrepancy between modern poets and Gaia's early planetary terms is the very high cost that poets have to pay to rise ink on new papyrus and change our poetic environment back to a balanced co-existence. The power of the word has faded, and lost connection, detached from the natural world. Today's music penned by poison poets do not acknowledge that Gaia is a self-regulating, living organism, which reacts to threats posed to her in such a way as to maximize her chances for survival. Gaia Returns in that living things and the environment evolve together in a complementary way. The balance between atmospheric carbon dioxide and oxygen maintains conditions in which life thrives, including the life of the poet who is under the charge of Gaia who in eternal return has both benevolent and harsh aspects, making the world and the poet comfortable for those who follow the rules of nature, but punishing transgressors ruthlessly. So, in essence, The Poet's Curse, the Earth does not belong to the poet, the poet belongs to Earth...the poet did not weave the web of life, the poet is merely a strand it it. Whatever the poet does to the web, the poet does to themself. Nice holistic poem, Robin. Expansion of our minds ride the winds of the butterfly, free and elusive.

Sage