What are You Telling Me?

Are the trees just acting out their loneliness,
their separation from the fire?
Are you telling me
the only soul is God
and time is a fountain, discharging to return,
the oceans to rain,
again?

Are you telling me
any synthesis is the alternation
evermore
in pursuit of missing link to perfection,
the mirage, the water that escapes you as you go forward,
the thirst that intensifies in place?

~and in endless image of perfection,
the missing perfection,
assumes the ultimate again
and again, like an endless orbit around a star,
like an endless walking
on a treadmill.
that the aim is not a destination. ~

Are you telling me
that time is mocking us?
Are you telling me that flowers are cure
and herbs are healing,
bondage for the laceration of living?
Are you telling me death do not exist
and life antidotes
infinity?