So life is hard
The distance between here
And the next place
Unpredictable, shallow.
Where will we lie?
In land deep
Where hours and days
Face off an eternity
As dull bones drum
A monotonous cortège from this soil.
Why stand we
Why run against the tide ?
All the trilling and cursing
The churning ride
Peaked and bumped
Tossed automata
By unspent gods.
Our lives decried
Tiny toys - quickly broken
Discarded, tired.
Why stand we
Why?
The glass of the fallen clock face
Is blackened,
The hallway has no door
The wall we emerge through
Naked, barefooted and cold
Is brittle
Behind lies only history,
Before: consequence,
unseen by us
And yet we cannot be
Un-been
For our measure is not in time
Which yields nothing but more of itself.
Our meaning pointless
Yes, except in a continuum
In which no conclusion yet resides...
But accept the journey is not over
And every conscious moment
Relevant, every breath - however short, shallow, resonates with effect.
Close the door; the light.
The butterfly wing. Impacts.
And we?
Reduced, transgressive and mortally shapeless,
may yet breathe
some share of grace into the infinite plan.
Un-been
For our measure is not in time
Which yields nothing but more of itself.
Our meaning pointless
Yes, except in a continuum
In which no conclusion yet resides...
But accept the journey is not over
And every conscious moment
Relevant, every breath - however short, shallow, resonates with effect.
Close the door; the light.
The butterfly wing. Impacts.
And we?
Reduced, transgressive and mortally shapeless,
may yet breathe
some share of grace into the infinite plan.
