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ADRIFT
Uneasy footsteps...
on a staggered staircase
tell the tale to none but oneself.
Handrails fall, one by one,
into the abyss of consciousness.
A myriad million doors
on a billion fractyl floors
are waiting to be explored.
Except:
for fear of death;
for fear of life;
is one
floor...
door...
stair...
step...in the right direction.
Interlocking circles...within interlocking circles.
Time within time...upon time again,
these syzygies of cosmic mime
play lyric we fates of Being.
Lifetimes two, three, four...ever,
consciousness washes this euclidian shore
until mankind knows...
that all is One.
Copyright © 1997 James M. Silver - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
HOURGLASS
It was unplanned, this lifelong journey
to landscapes of skyscrapers, valley
meadows of kaleidoscopic brilliance,
and frigid peaks of rasping winds...
whose sum total is time yields memories.
~
The young lad at play with ball, bat,
and glove in fragrant spring grass,
which passed much too quickly...
leaving but fond time's field memories.
~
A lifetime of matinees and midnights,
living inside a thousand thrilling lives
of courage, fear, pain, love, and beauty...
through time's reel memories.
~
Magic not reborn does meld to glow,
as we pass through Nature's entrails
to discernment of that which was...
and realize that time fields memories.
~
Cyclical despair sets upon some,
a gut-wrenching product of true pain
of that we could not endure, though we
would acquiese to Nature's Will again,
even then, as time steels memories.
~
Like sculpted aged molten lava,
our mind clasps what it can...while
the cosmos plays despite our desires...
and proves that time seals memories.
~
But all we are, we were, now it is known
as we follow still call to Nature...
valuing that which we have become,
as we know all time's real memories.
~
Those that linger past Nature's edge
find kind goodness dwelling in shadows...
and return to our roots, the child,
but not know, as time steals memories.
~
And we that Nature left behind pursue...
looking for a way to love as a way to die;
and, find scant comfort as we learn that:
looking for a way to die is a way to love.
Copyright © 1998 James M. Silver - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
