Sometimes time seems to fly by so very quickly,
And you wonder where the moments have gone
And what you have really done
Since you last looked at a clock;
And it stuns you to realize how the minutes pass
Without your capturing them to do something . . .
Yet time can seem so slow when you are working;
You wonder if the minutes have turned to hours –
‘Tempus fugit’ is not always the case in this life –
But when time does fly by you often want to stop
And rewind the clock to retake those lost minutes
But you cannot . . . You can only move forward . . .
Ever forward with time, whether so fast (or slow)
Time: Do you have her, or does she have you???
If hatred is all that unifies you, then you will always have to hate to be unified;
Is this the kind of unity you desire? Unity completely devoid of love and peace?
And what happens when the object of your hatred changes or simply vanishes?
If hatred is all that’s unified you, you’ll have to find something else to hate,
Or what is worse, someone else to hate with no room left for true compassion,
No room for understanding, for bridge-building, for reasonable compromise . . .
Is this kind of unity an healthy unity? Unity centered upon feelings of hostility?
Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years upon years,
And now my life is filled with too many decades of time with too few left to me
To live in hatred and animosity, fear, paranoia, enmity, rancor and bitterness;
And this man is too old and tired to spend his precious time with those who do!
Even my ears grow weary of hearing the poison spewing out from such people!
Light, life ‘n love stand above all and are more than enough to take all my time,
So too there is truth ~ yes ~ but my choice is to stand upon truth in true peace.
Through an unexpected portal into another world
In the same world yet strangely different somehow,
Not quite like Alice in Wonderland but wonderful
And cheerful and beautiful, serene yet sensational,
You find yourself on an altogether unfamiliar path,
But you can’t turn back no matter how frightening
May be the unknown ahead — the portal is closed
Yet part of you deep in your heart wants to go on,
To surge on forward toward some unknown goal,
Some as-of-yet unseen destination in expectation
That what you find there will be better than where
You were as you are now greeted by Lady Mystique,
And she is quite the sight to see, very real and regal,
Towering above you, inviting you to come forward
Somewhere and you do not know where but here
Is not where to stay, for staying seems impossible,
So you cast a backward glance at the shut-up portal
Then stand ‘n boldly stride forth to new beginnings
You have just come through another open portal . . .
Nine soldiers among the burning pines
Sing songs of war to bring terror to the terrorized
In occupied territory in retaliatory mode
Which bodes ill for the already-oppressed
Possessed by fear and crying tears for mercy;
But the nine are suddenly cut off from their unit
And hit by the sudden realization
That they cannot return to their civilization,
And they are surrounded now by the sounds
Of the persecuted, who move slowly in wonder
While the soldiers blunder here and there
Pointing their rifles round about determined
To fight before they die . . . but their guns jam!
And they cannot so much as telegram for any help!
Suddenly seized with fear they hear the mumbling
Of the crowd of “enemies” now gathered round
And believe they are bound
To be beaten and eaten alive . . .
But one child, meek and mild, steps forward
With flask of water in hand and stretches it forward
Toward one of the soldiers saying, “Take, drink . . .”
And the soldier knows not what to think;
All nine are shocked that they are not even mocked;
No, but one by one the oppressed step forward
With open arms . . . “How may we help you, children?”
They intend no harm and the nine no longer alarmed;
In that instance, the lambs save the lions
With no shame pretense, only genuine peace . . .
Only genuine love and peace . . .
Could it be so? Oh God, make it so, make it so!
What is this that I wake up crying
Trying to lie to myself that it was just a dream
When I can’t even remember the theme
Or even if I did dream, though it seems I did,
But I crawl out of bed ready to scrawl
On the walls but I fall to the floor without words,
Hearing birds chirping outside beside my window,
Which is only a show of other life happy,
And I wonder why I can’t be more snappy
And sing, too . . . If only the birds would bring
Inside my soul their song
But they throng outside all to themselves,
Or have they brought me a song already,
So I have what I’ve sought all my life
Never knowing it was blowing so near and dear?
But will I go through the day this way?
I know I may stay somber in this same location
With my same vocation,
But at least I find some relief in the belief
That I’m doing something good and productive,
Something even seductive to my artisan soul!
I may bite my pen for awhile in tears
But eventually I will write
In sight of the whole world . . .
If anyone cares to read, and maybe my words
Will then have planted some seed worth growing
In the hole of someone’s soul . . .
I may not be able to save myself
But I can behave as if I’m saving another,
Though all I may be doing is raving like a lunatic!
Note: This is the third (or fourth) of my stream-of-consciousness poem