What Sacred Spectres are These?

What sacred spectres are these,
What sacred spectres are these,
To whom you call out to when down on your knees,
Whom you wish to appease,
With your chants and your pleas,
Whose visage you accept without question,
Without sight
Faithfully?

Can you not see,
Can you not see,
That the spirit exists
Manifests endlessly,
In all we perceive,
In the birds and the trees,
In the oceans and seas,
In you and in me,
In war and in peace,
Good health and disease,
The West and the East,
In the places and races and faces between?

What sad spectres are these,
What sad spectres are these,
Which you conjure then relegate to symbol and allegory?
Prior notions believed,
Not truly perceived,
No new visions conceived,
Lest through your dirty hands
Should we the holy receive:
A house in the sand
No foundation beneath?

So are you content with this,
The extent of which,
Can be found in such measures
As length and as width,
Or do you wish
To see that which exists
In dimensions outside of those through which we drift?

What new essence could be,
What new essence could be,
Gleaned without expectation
Or projected meaning,
Just waiting
That we
Were to open our eyes,
Our hearts,
To possibility,
To the capacity
Of infinity,
The unimaginable power
Derived entropy,
The likewise constructive/
Destructive
Nature
Of creativity,
Of abstract relief,
The potential now dormant
Just waiting to be,
In unfettered belief,
In the things we can see
But cannot quite reach
With neither body nor mind
But the spirit still seeks
In our poetry,
In the songs that we sing,
In artistic renditions
Premonitions unique
As the choices
And voices
Of those who write and who speak
As our sources
And forces
Of creation should be.