~ a poem about Time
What is waiting in this world.
Somewhere down along the line,
within the streams,
there are moments awaiting.
For me.
And for you.
With eternal patience,
they are reaching among the seams in the stars.
Residing for now, within complacence
Unconstructed as of yet, an augur of unformed scars
Given the right conditions,
Moments can be ascertained.
Brought forth from the existential flow,
providing form amidst former unconsciousness.
Uncertainty divines new realms,
Each more complex than the last.
This impassive ambiguity overwhelms
Old worlds shifting mercilessly into past.
An endless hall of thresholds beckoning.
Tales foreshadowing the rise:
Narratives nascently initiating,
Forerunning the fall,
Anticipating ataxian advances
westward into wary wilderness.
eastward from erstwhile edges.
A lost gaze rests upon unfounded legacies and forgotten changes.
Untold potential within unfashioned clay readied for the transformation.
Innovations of mind & matter claim the power within this exchange.
The best of them forward into proper annexation;
The worst unto utter damnation.
A new reality draws those that can seize it,
Designers, builders, creators —
they ride the wings of dreams into their own transient horizons.
For better or worse, they leap.
Here, there is a measure of control.
These sayers do sooth,
For a few moments, Time does console:
there is Truth.
there is Permanence.
there is merciless awareness
Moments gathered & crafted to formulate differences, improvements, elemental revolutions & refinements
Moments forged in the chaos of creative endeavor,
moments shifting now to present
moments and passages readied to sever
moments gifted with an inexorable ascent
moments alive — dancing along the edges of cosmic absolution.
a moment set to ride amidst the unstoppable wave of evolution.
Lament, for these moments endure for less than a moment.
Time is sincere in its demarcations, and faithless in its origins.
~
Most, however, never become conscious at all,
dormant in the dark and formlessness of a nonexistence professed.
The possible and impossible all shuffled up in the thrall,
leading to unrelenting outcomes unguessed.
These other timelines never heard from, realities unrealized.
Strangers never met.
Words unspoken.
Worlds unexplored.
But they don’t mind at all,
They await destiny like a lighthouse.
A lone pillar anticipating windfall,
Emerging depths ready to dowse.
Contemplating placid fates,
Guiding home ships from storm.
Chaos of the tempest violently illustrates,
Crashing waves, capacities to transform.
The light shines,
reaching into the ocean
and the waves,
riding the strokes o’ lightning
amongst the black clouds overhead,
desperately searching for the lone traveler bound for its precious coast.
What can the beam see?
A million single lights, floating on in the darkness between moments.
Which fate can it wrest free?
Grasping at Time, it pursues everlasting atonements.
Why does the tide bid such a decree?
The rays beckon as long as their opponents,
…appearing in the night long after those sails were swallowed by an unforgiving sea. ~~
Thresholds of Transformation 