past an elaborately carved alabaster door
at the end of a gilded westmost corridor
next to draped yellow chrysanthemums
(that sit stoicly on a marble column)
there is a set of bound burgundy tomes.
they are thickened with age and dust-
and inside of them is everything.
everything we know
everything we have known
and everything we will know.
they are the eyes, the ears, the voice,
and the word.
my fear I think,
comes with wondering
who were the men who wrote they knew nothing,
until they wrote they knew everything of the world?
– sc
sheila sea 
so very philosophical….and disconcerting as all philosophical questions are.
I wonder what is your idea of ‘these men’ who knew nothing before they new everything, and were they aware of their ignorance, worse still are they us (mankind in general) before we know everything?
I only say they are us because i feel once a man knows everything they are no longer man per se and because to be human is to be in constant pursuit of more knowledge so if you know everything…you mustn’t be a man.
This is awesome SS, I really enjoyed it.Great work
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Thank you, I really dig your interpretation. I’m glad you enjoyed it and it made you think a bit. That’s all I can ask for with my little ditties. Much obliged, man.
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Such an interesting piece of written work, knowledge from an old world…
cheers chris jensen (toad)
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Thank you. I’m grateful you think so. 🙏🏼
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i wouldn’t lie…
Not finding the time to read more of your inspiration sedan myself!
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To go from thinking one knows nothing to thinking one knows everything. That’s quite an arrogant leap, isn’t it. Many people are that way. Others go the other direction, learning every day how little they know and much there is to learn, especially about kindness and forgiveness.
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Absolutely. Thank you, Roger. 🙂
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This is great, I love you’re work it makes me think 🙂 I would like to share this on my twitter 🙂
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Thanks Debbie. 🙂 Please do. ✨
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Reblogged this on Petrichor and commented:
I am pleased to share with you the intricacy of another poet’s mind, as displayed in her marvelous work of words…
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