Prelapsarian, your fear of mind
You’ll see it coming hard-fast
Moments where you cannot act
drowning quick in the freeze
Of action made which you’ll know last
Yet when that sun comes to,
In fruition post trauma
Idols quicken, save bitter absence
From scopes of reaping mindlessness
Holding close, loyal hands.
Time moves forward, never backwards
As not to stir order,
As age only grows, youth
Is for ignorance
As Time has shown.
A natural species,
Earth’s proudest lifelings,
Like most common beings exists as two,
Man and Woman, seeing right from left,
Time works never stopping,
Not collapsing; however,
Progressing vastly slower.
With far fewer steps strode over
Space as Time grows older,
These humans be but cells,
Sealed with souls shaping
Ethereal beings beyond
For our allotment of Time
Given we see to it that humans
Keep living. Until…
We grow too plenty, before soon
Beginning to see that
Although we’ve grown in Time,
Ideas begin to realize
We’ve corrupted this
From advancements for
answers to questions like
Rapture or whether the beings
Up high aren’t just imagined
In separate minds which have
All been revolutionized, like
Time’s ever-aging surmise
That all life is living
Before it grows old and dies.
Content with the content of relation,
Rather, incomplete in form, structurally
In sound, shattered in bitterness
Found outside realms of familiarity.
Lost only to whispers of resentment
In your cause.
Desire strikes not once, but twice,
In heart’s indecisiveness,
Yet while all is clear, a path left not trodden is turned away from,
Left to darken under cold memory,
To watch light shower uninterrupted from beyond walls
Choking under change,
As a feast forgotten is devoured,
By beaks of crows with teeth of vermin.
When holding on to what is lost,
All’s left to watch it go,
Go, out of our spectrum,
To a plane where we aren’t so significant,
At least not positively,
But just a source of wrath to be gained,
By a presence caught in fantasy,
Shamelessly, blindly clinging
On time’s thinnest strand,
Until this thread is cut–
Among juvenile sparks of rivalry,
There’s naught but grief to be got.
Passing under Summer’s shadow, breezes leave a scent of Autumn,
Speaking by dance,
Grasses graze the fields.
Under-bough a leaf flees
Its master, rebelling at last its sweltering Life.
Preluding their fate,
No others join his cause,
Holding fast their comfort above Earth.
Yet with each passing day,
While Suns set shorter
As did the number of
loyalists left to mutter softly
In brisk Summer breezes.
The human body is seventy-five percent water, so is the Earth. Where the Earth has trees we have hair. Like the volcanoes in areas of instability, we too have acne in times of stress. So how is it that no matter how much like this Earth we are we ruin it with chemicals, pollution much the same as our own forms with toxins and unhealthy habits? However we change our planet fails, as our reflections shimmer in vast, empty waters.
She’s so sweet when she’s asleep,
Her face is calm, content to be,
Far away from tears of strife,
Brought on by life in plight,
This bitter trail, mistakes smeared,
On a mind so fragile shatter like ice,
Against concrete black as night,
Crystals flutter over top reflect
Regret to public eye.
No mistake left to mystery,
While what’s past is slowly
Made into history.
How slow it travels, a clock that’s
Waited on when tears are dropped
To a broken hand left
To unravel after each tick,
That time makes in each prick
Drawing blood of a guilty conscience.