"Bifrons"

 Bifrons √

One face has faced infinity and revels in the ride

All ruts encountered on the way are taken slow, in stride

Another face of withered stare is on the other side

A burning deep impatience with no thought of fear or pride

The cry of reason stifles as the aching heart does smother

The winds of fate are weathered by the iron of the other

To pass through time, a ghost, the merest wisps of life and sense

While darkly lit, a whisper's heard, the mists, at once, condense

The faces fold, appear as one, the burden set aside

The ache is gone, the heart is one, the tears have all been cried

I am realizing so much today about the magic of rhoetry.  This was my way to express.  While everyone tried to make sense on a daily basis of the confusion of prehuman life, I did not.  I did not make any predictions, though maybe some vague hints.  I did not try to answer anything because all of the answers I had heard answered nothing pertinent or worthwhile.  My rhoetry prevented me from getting caught in the trap of professing answers that were not answers, while allowing my mind to explore all of our existence while lowering the bar of restriction on what I thought.  There is the trickiest part of writing rhoetry that I've mentioned often.  The mind's concentration on rhythm and rhyme lowers the barriers that have been built over a lifetime to prevent consideration of certain subjects.  It took me about ten years from the time I picked up the pen, once again, to slog through three millennia of madness to find the truth and TLTSIA.  I guess the other interesting thing about rhoetry is the ability to use symbolism to describe that thorniest issues before having them revealed wholly.