The tide has come in:
my brother is my savior.
The rains have come:
my sister is my oracle.

On these precious, sentient cycles
Arrival is the lie,
the bubble bursting bitch,
the laughing of Sarai.

Arrival is the anti-tide,
the crippled gait, the broken stride,
the certainty of status quo,
the demon of our pride.

We put out every spark
lest the forests all burn down.
Now the duff and tinder lay
awaiting conflagration day.

But every cycle should inform us
and each circumstance enjoin us
to engage in honest discourse
as ephemerati glow.

It’s the trying to hear,
the fervent press for harmony,
deeper harmony,
that subsumes all discord in time,
like your thrice great
you never met
but who is yet
living in you.

1 Comment

Filed under Tide

One response to “Tide

  1. Beautiful. Time is not linear and the rhythms and gorgeous sound echoes through this poem reinforce its thought. The same wave moving through life is moving through the poem. It’s the kind of metaphysical poem that can be read again and again, for its intelligence and ideas and for its wonderful sounds and flow.

    Thank you for your blessing, Paul. Since you liked this, I’d like to offer you the challenge of “The Death of Merlin” and maybe even “Spin Time with Me”. The latter ends too cryptically, but I plan to revise that part.

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