Something from my soon to be released book of stories and poems, Afterthoughts. Sans Time, Sans Everything When the time comes at the end of time itself And the veil of death’s dark shadow Starts to draw itself across your eyes Will you thank yourself that you spent Hours toiling away at the fields you tilled? Or will you wish that you’d spent an hour Even two, in the arms of your lover. The heat of passion filling you up And bursting out of you. Primal. Of the earth. There is a deeper understanding within us, Supressed, held back, substituted and lost. Inhibited from expression and camouflaged By manufactured exigencies of the conscious. Is it fear I want to ask you, of your mortality? But I probably don’t want to know the truth. The ultimate paradox, as years rush by in seconds Bringing you faster to that which you dread most And in the end, not even your lover’s dreams. Life is either a bird, free and flying high above On invisible cushions of spiralling air. Or it is a caged thing, chirruping and dancing Unknowing of the origins of its restlessness. This chance moment that we are on this earth To be grasped hard in both hands, determined Lovingly nurtured not wasting one drop nor dram Nothing spilling over from cup to quivering lip The anticipation of everything and then nothing. Could you, would you dance with me, with yourself?
Posted on: Sun, 06 Jul 2014 00:58:29 +0000
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