Post by artolmaeus on Jun 4, 2022 12:00:44 GMT -6
In every living moment
what has been is what is to come
not the paradox, not the circle
we draw lines we paint colors
the swirls of patterns and random things
we give it meaning and understanding
if only we could control it
if only it was ours to own
but how to own something that was given
in each little moment, it is there
in the way a song makes you feel
the first time you hear it
the nuance of experience fades with repetition
and yet no matter how small that molecule
within it is the essence of something
which we mistake for joy
ecstacy, for such things
we give these small touches the greatest value
and chase them like children
would the most marvelous butterfly
what if we were not meant to catch it
what if what we feel right then
is who and what we really were
not a servant to machine of creation
but the very reason for why the gears turn
at each moment of pain and constant sorrow
we can find the desire to be released
and force the very fiber of our form
to find it's way to peace
the birth of every child
of every living thing
of all that we do not know of at all
the drone of the earth turning
in all that is both great and worse
claim we some unclaimable feeling
whether blessing or a curse
for then it is the march of time
it's cadence beating strong
and for that meter
we commiserate what in our small portfolio
all that is or isn't wrong
poison or orgasm, elation or disintegration
all the phonemes of the sounds we have in-between
and somehow in our construction
we wash it till it's clean
shoot now the dirty arrow
and watch it always miss the mark
it is no different for the sparrow
in the light or in the dark
for what is the world but a fettered feeling
and in some time it will have to go
and in the moment of our defeating
all we ever think and know
for sometimes in our understanding
we fail to even see
because of the intensity of our demanding
just how and who we'll be
and no part of any feather
has one uncounted row
but all the work can be recanted
when we surrender more to flow
in the forms of light and wonder
there no place for chance
and in the patterns and the footprints
it is a beautiful dance
and for all that time
as time is measured
when we believe it has reached the end
whether the skeptic or the hopeful
does anything really start to begin
hallow nothing
nor consider hollow the air above your hand
there is a place without location
and that is where I AM
what has been is what is to come
not the paradox, not the circle
we draw lines we paint colors
the swirls of patterns and random things
we give it meaning and understanding
if only we could control it
if only it was ours to own
but how to own something that was given
in each little moment, it is there
in the way a song makes you feel
the first time you hear it
the nuance of experience fades with repetition
and yet no matter how small that molecule
within it is the essence of something
which we mistake for joy
ecstacy, for such things
we give these small touches the greatest value
and chase them like children
would the most marvelous butterfly
what if we were not meant to catch it
what if what we feel right then
is who and what we really were
not a servant to machine of creation
but the very reason for why the gears turn
at each moment of pain and constant sorrow
we can find the desire to be released
and force the very fiber of our form
to find it's way to peace
the birth of every child
of every living thing
of all that we do not know of at all
the drone of the earth turning
in all that is both great and worse
claim we some unclaimable feeling
whether blessing or a curse
for then it is the march of time
it's cadence beating strong
and for that meter
we commiserate what in our small portfolio
all that is or isn't wrong
poison or orgasm, elation or disintegration
all the phonemes of the sounds we have in-between
and somehow in our construction
we wash it till it's clean
shoot now the dirty arrow
and watch it always miss the mark
it is no different for the sparrow
in the light or in the dark
for what is the world but a fettered feeling
and in some time it will have to go
and in the moment of our defeating
all we ever think and know
for sometimes in our understanding
we fail to even see
because of the intensity of our demanding
just how and who we'll be
and no part of any feather
has one uncounted row
but all the work can be recanted
when we surrender more to flow
in the forms of light and wonder
there no place for chance
and in the patterns and the footprints
it is a beautiful dance
and for all that time
as time is measured
when we believe it has reached the end
whether the skeptic or the hopeful
does anything really start to begin
hallow nothing
nor consider hollow the air above your hand
there is a place without location
and that is where I AM
