[21 June 2019]
It’s funny how time is built by connotation –
Moments made holy by association:
No day, no moment
Can bear the weight of itself, nor can Theros crown herself –
Each day, each moment
Stands
Strung together between this and this and the next,
Each passing thought a testament to itself,
A monument to something beyond itself
(Each of its own self-necessity pulls into the light,
Each of its own will stepping lost into the dark,
Never lost, never unknown,
Heard and tried and weighed against itself for itself
And found to be exactly what it is: itself,
A ward against the turning of the seasons and times and tides,
Testifying that the something beyond itself was built and was here
And can be seen and made known and shone upon for its moment, too,
Although it neither be vociferous nor pedantic nor alive for anything else but for this purpose,
It is, indeed, very much alive;
The tides push on in out in out in out against the shoreline,
Uncovering things long hidden in the darknesses,
Dragging broken bottles and paper napkins and old sandals, and other things we try to forget,
Quietly back into their depths),
And each word a cornerstone at the base of a new age –
A cradle and a coffin in one and all the life in-between
Breaking bonds and moulding meaning
On the plate and in the chalice and
In the hallowed space between its two open hands.
Take one last walk with me –
The sun has not yet set.
—
This post was reblogged at
Haiku from J Richards
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