My present contribution lurks,
all knowing, sat beneath myself.
My-self thought known, itself converts
to fleeting truth by stealth.
That truth appearing, itself a thing
dictated by its finite time.
Ripples caused by fragile wing,
rising, seeking to recline.
Defying life, I strive to fly,
to higher realms, I’m drawn.
Myself beneath it seeks to die,
and memory’s fear, translates to scorn.
But through time’s revelations;
fragmentations of the truth;
the body’s inclinations;
the brief hallucinations;
appears myself a truce.
The grace to know that being free,
depends not on escaping.
Freedom seen occasionally
endures because it’s saving.
Saving precious memories
my present self the killer.
Bodies are like falling leaves,
Life’s elixir, poor caterpillar.
away from me
I rarely see.
But when I glimpse
my wondering mind
it’s then I find
the cogs at grind.
My mind a separation.
A fools idol, that mind, a’wondering,
to freedoms call, it goes a’blundering,
as I recall, and I’m surrendering
my freedoms lost, to idle rendering.
To know this creeping paradox,
is to sever clinks, disguised as cogs.
The minds’ defiance, it unlocks
unveiling pebbles, from the rocks.
It only matters if I’m looking.
Close my eyes, just me, nothing.
Sometimes, I feel my eyes burning.
They have control that they aren’t yearning.
If I close my eyes, the things they would see, still happen.
Things, without my eyes piercing.
Things, not knowing my eyes be looking.
Having not pierced those things, they be, undetected. Those things continue, undisturbed and unaffected.
Them being, having not been affected, all things still beckon.
Waiting for attention.
My age in days, in all my time.
Beyond your years, ’tis with regret,
would take to give you, one of mine.
This might seem like a cunning plan,
to escape my obligation.
But I conclude – it’s rude to cram,
my thanks in finite occupation.
I think my thanks can more be known,
by drawing from the years we’ve spent.
Instead of the thanks you think I’ve shown,
think of the things our time has lent.
Considering this reality,
one day of thanks’ absurdity.
Serves only a calamity,
to undisturbed affinity.
What’s greater still, than both our years,
is this Earth still endures.
And with it lives, transcends our fears,
that thanks endured, secure.
The point of zero is where time and gravity equal zero. We always travel towards where time is less, assuming this results in ageing less.
But time and age are not the same. Age increases as time decreases.
So what we must really want, is to gain in age in lesser time.
When time and mass equal each other – there’s infinite age and zero time.
Yet it’s living things that aim to escape zero time, the consequence needing time.