Threshold

I have stood as if at the threshold of an arbitrary infinity,
with accelerated eyes, gazing instantaneously
at the epiphenomena of the Physics.
Dreams do not rush so, hopes are never this fast:
I race headlong against Death, and I know I shall lose in the end,
but let’s see, now, how far I may cheat him —
for he exacts the same fare of everyone, however much
or little you have paid in your living. Life, I think,
is hurried along in mostly needless fashion,
in mostly heedless fashion, in mostly
deedless fashion, much ado about the ado, and I wonder
as if I am the first one to ever wonder, and will be the last one,
then forget what I was wondering about....
Here I stand, just for this moment, deciding on eternity
by a toss of the coin — yet somehow, impossibly,
there is meaning in it all: this life is sweet
even when it is sour, and in all the racing we do
we accomplish things we are meant to. And I sleep
as if I were the first and the last ever to do so,
and then I wake, forgetting all the dreaming I have done.

(I am the palad1n.)

 

Airy

Dream again like as a child
When you went wand’ring in the wood
And seeking lonely in the wild
Found the evil and the good

Fly thy spirit like the leaves
In autumn wind caught in the draft
An airy pattern so to weave
Learning heaven’s sacred craft

Speak as if the world could hear
For all that’s hid shall come to light
And all your words shall find an ear
Come the dawn that follows night

Love, to hear what heartbeats say
The whispered wishes hearts will send
That all of life’s collected days
Of love we’re given what we spend

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

Destiny

What is this destiny
that allows us to be free?
These decisions all our own intent,
yet to fate we are
an easy capture.

(I do not comprehend
how the tiniest of fluctuations
in the borders
of the barest occurrence
can bring the downfall
of an empire;
I cannot fathom
how these choices we make
fabricate a civilization.
It is always to me
some sort of alchemy.)

Such is transcendence:
we, without limit to our freedom
create that which was
meant to be.
The mystery is that
it is all plain,
the workings of destiny, yet
stare as we might
at all that transpires, and why,
we cannot grasp
the infinite detail
of how this moment became.

(Like it or not,
destiny depends on
what you do,
not what you understand.)

 

John H. Doe